


Knockin' on Heaven's Door

by laurabryannan



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Time, M/M, Male Slash, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Slash, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurabryannan/pseuds/laurabryannan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emo techie falls for MD, but not all is as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Knockin' on Heaven's Door**  
by Laura Bryannan  
  
It was too weird. Riding the bus to work always made him depressed. Even though the hospital's tech support department was small, there were still enough people to deal with each day to make his job a struggle. Switching to the night shift had helped, being that he was often the only one manning the office for several hours a stretch. He knew his coworkers thought he was strange, but since he'd spent his entire twenty-one years of life knowing people thought that, he didn't much care. Not really.  
  
“ _He might be cute if he washed his hair sometimes.”_  
  
 _“Is that really a staple holding his glasses together?”_  
  
 _“The Sweater's got a new hole. Do you think he's raising moths in his apartment?”_  
  
Sometimes they didn't even wait till he left the cafeteria to snicker. It just pissed him off and made him more determined to arrive even grungier the next day.  
  
So what was the deal? Why was he almost looking forward to work tonight?  
  
Things were relatively quiet for Cook County when he arrived, no ambulances screaming, although the emergencies he handled had nothing to do with how many jerks got shot or OD'd that night. The computers running the hospital's myriad systems should have been upgraded years ago, and the programs running them were even more ancient. It worked out well for him, since he was fluent in the abandoned languages and enjoyed conversing with machines much more than humans.  
  
He dropped his stuff on his desk and went, as always, to check in on the room across the hall. Ten beds in the large space housed The Terminals, folks comatose or highly sedated for pain, waiting for their bodies to give up and die. It was the start of his work ritual to see who was gone, who was new, and to say hello to whoever was still hanging on.  
  
Even when he worked the day shift, these patients rarely had visitors, and he supposed it wasn't surprising. If you had family who gave a shit you wouldn't be dying at Chicago's Cook County Hospital. But at night there was never anyone around and he liked to visit with them as they lay there. They didn't care if he had nothing witty to say, or if he just sat around like a boring lump. In fact, they seemed to welcome his company no matter what he did, so it felt peaceful and calming in a way he couldn't explain.  
  
Maybe that's why it had been such a freakout to peek in the other night and find a vertical person in the room. Clearly a doctor by the sage green scrubs and white lab coat, bending over Joe, a comatose gunshot victim. He'd made his escape, heart pounding, and plopped into his chair feeling strangely violated.  
  
Yeah, it was a hospital so one should expect doctors to be lurking, but the fuckalmighty MDs were never on call for The Terminals, especially during the night shift. The nurses hung out at their station unless there was an emergency, so it was the first time he'd been confronted with one of the poohbahs in his space.  
  
The blip in his work ritual made everything wrong that night, but he was a good boy and fixed the accounts payable glitch before he took a break and walked across the hall. Doctor Man was nowhere to be seen and he was relieved. Deciding to visit with Mary, who sometimes opened her eyes if he read to her since she was on morphine, not comatose, he cracked the book and began.  
  
He was trying to get through _Master and Commander_ , but it wasn't happening. Intrigued by the character of Jack Aubrey and his relationship with Stephen Maturin, he'd thought the movie was great. But the book was so seaworthy he felt cast adrift in the boring terminology, and often skipped ahead to the stuff about people, not ships. Mary didn't seem to mind the holes in continuity, nor was he sure she'd be around to notice if he never finished the thing.  
  
It had been three nights in a row now that Blondie the Doctor Man had fucked with his routines, being in The Terminals' room when he wanted to chill in there himself. Each time it happened it made him more resentful and pissed. And when he was pissed, codes wouldn't debug, error messages piled up and everything was fucked.  
  
So, last night he'd stomped into The Terminals' room later than he preferred, ready to confront the asshole if necessary, but felt instantly cheered to find him absent. Settling down to chapter four with a contented sigh, he fancied Mary gently chiding him for showing up behind schedule. He was just getting to the good part when he heard the doorknob turn.  
  
Heart in throat, he watched the man come into the room, looking as flustered as he felt himself. “Oh! I didn't expect to find anyone here this late. Are you family?”  
  
He turned back to Mary, just to insure she was still African-American, and replied, “Uh...no. I work here.”  
  
Doctor Man smiled, seemingly unperturbed by his stupid assumption. “I see.” He stepped forward, offering his hand. “I'm John.”  
  
Quickly wiping his hand on a pants leg, just in case, he returned the gesture. “Dylan.”  
  
“Nice. Were your folks into Dylan Thomas or Mr. Zimmerman?”  
  
The answer was humiliating, but he felt compelled to tell the truth for some reason. “No. Beverly Hills, 90210.”  
  
John winced in sympathy.  
  
“My mom was....” _A first class twit_. He shrugged, unwilling to continue.  
  
The man seemed to understand and smiled kindly. “Was?”  
  
Suddenly mortified that he'd practically dumped his entire life story on a total stranger, he dove toward the door. “Uh, I better get back to work.”  
  
“Sure thing,” came the amiable reply. “Later.”  
  
Dylan spent the rest of the night and the next day replaying the exchange in his mind. John had a nice face, handsome, he supposed. With light ash blond hair that was conservatively short, but had a should have been cut two weeks ago shagginess to it. Running his hand through his own dark brown mop, he smirked, since the length was in the should have been cut six months ago range.  
  
At first glance he'd thought John to be about twenty-five, but the more he thought about it, the older he seemed. Maybe thirty- or even forty-five. It was hard to say, as the face had both youthful and worldly-wise qualities. But, how many twenty-five year old doctors were there? Dylan decided he couldn't be that young.  
  
So, yeah, looking forward to work was definitely weird. The reason, now that he'd thought about it, was even weirder considering his lone wolf ways. But, looking forward to...um...work, was pleasant in a way he'd never experienced before, and that was cool. So...yeah.  
  
to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Dylan entered The Terminals' room for the first time in days with anticipation, not apprehension, so he was almost disappointed to find Dr. John absent. He made his rounds, checking everyone out, feeling bittersweet to discover Joe's bed empty. Dylan supposed it was a good thing he finally went to better place, but ol' Joe had seemed like a good guy and he was going to miss him.  
  
Human Resources needed their database updated and the VP was a big pain in the ass, so Dylan worked on that for a few hours until he was startled by the door opening. Looking up to find the object of his desire standing there in all his glory, he came to his senses in time to keep his jaw from dropping, managing to casually say, “Oh...hi.”  
  
“Ah, so here you are,” said Dr. John, smiling as he stepped inside. “There's no sign.”  
  
“They moved us in here last summer and haven't gotten around to it, I guess,” Dylan replied, heart pounding. “Folks call or email if they need me, anyway.”  
  
John turned slowly, looking around the room. “So many machines,” he sighed. “No one knows how to heal anymore.”  
  
Dylan eyed him curiously, since he seemed too young to be wanking about bygone days. “No lab work is analyzed here,” he said. “These computers run the hospital's financial and personnel systems.”  
  
The handsome face brightened. “Never mind. I was going for coffee. Would you like some?”  
  
“Yeah.” Dylan glanced at his watch. Almost time for a break. “I'll come with you.”  
  
He followed the man out the door, noting he couldn't have been more than an inch taller. Bigger build, though. Dylan cringed inwardly. Even though he was graced with a tall, thin frame, his slacker's physique was nothing to be proud of.  
  
Thankfully only a few nurses were in the cafeteria, so there was no waiting at the coffee machine. John stood there spacing out, eyes wandering, so Dylan poured them both a cup. “You drink it black?” he asked.  
  
“I prefer cream and sugar,” John told him, “but that powdered stuff is awful. So, black, thank you.”  
  
He took the coffee and Dylan's breath caught as their fingers touched. Yesterday, in green scrubs, he was sure John's eyes were blue. But today, in blue scrubs, they appeared gray. It was disconcerting.  
  
“You washed your hair,” John said. “Nice.”  
  
“It's that noticeable?” he asked, feeling the blush creep up his neck.  
  
“Well...yes.”  
  
Dylan's mind went white, a cold dread settling in his stomach as the seconds ticked by and he could think of nothing to say.  
  
Finally, John helped him out. “It looks like rock star hair,” he noted with genuine appreciation. “Or anime hair.”  
  
Anime hair?!? The idea shocked him out of his stupor and he smiled without realizing it. “Uh, thanks.” Frantically eying his watch, he added, “I should get back to work.” He tuned toward the door, amazed he felt relieved to hear John step in behind him. As they stood together in the elevator, he had recovered enough to speak, despite the fact that his heart was still racing. “So, are you new here? I haven't seen you around before.”  
  
“Yes,” he was told. “I float. Assigned to a few different places. This is the first week I've been here.” The elevator dinged at the floor below Dylan's and the door opened. He hadn't noticed John push the button, but he walked out, turning briefly to say, “Good night.” The main cancer ward was on that floor.  
  
“Later,” he replied, feeling disappointed as the elevator continued upward.  
  
Dr. John was not seen for the rest of his shift, and by the time Dylan arrived home that morning he was a man obsessed. He was thinking about sex, feeling desire, and that hadn't happened in a very long while. It was wonderful but terrifying.  
  
The girls had started chasing him in middle school, and since he was cleaner and saner in those days he'd had his pick. But, no matter how cute, his interest would spark only briefly before sputtering out—sometimes quietly, other times with a blast of acrid smoke.  
  
He didn't manage an actual relationship until college, but that was because she didn't seem to mind that they rarely fooled around. It wasn't that he didn't like it with her, but there were always other things he'd rather be doing, so he'd forget to pursue the matter. When she finally left him for another guy, he missed her cooking and her company, but settled back into his bachelor life easily enough. In a way, it was a relief not having the obligation of servicing her hanging over his head anymore.  
  
There had only been one other person before now who evoked any sense of passion. But, because that person had been a man, his feelings had confused him and he'd tried very hard to shove them aside. Now that he was focusing on yet another man, the past came rushing back.  
  
After his mom died, he'd been taken in by her oldest brother, who had two small children of his own. His harried wife was happy to ignore the quiet, self-possessed eight year old as she chased after her toddlers. And so he'd had a roof over his head and food to eat but little else. Perhaps sensing their inadequacies parenting him, they contacted the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization and, when he was ten, Lewis came into his life.  
  
Lewis was sixteen, loved comics and manga as much as he did, and was happy to take him to every R rated movie he longed to see. He'd lost his family too—brought to the attention of the authorities because his single mother was emotionally unstable and had stopped sending him to school. She relinquished custody when Lewis was nine and he was raised in a group home. He seemed to instinctively understand Dylan's situation, and the lonely boy soaked up the attention like a sponge.  
  
It wasn't until he was older that he realized he'd had a full-blown crush on Lewis. His tween self had known only that he loved every moment spent with his older friend, growing stronger with every compliment and taking his criticisms seriously enough to try and do better. The first hurt had come at thirteen, when Lewis met The Girl and suddenly had much less time to spend together. It couldn't have been more confusing, for the girls were practically throwing themselves at his own feet, but his raging hormones were focused elsewhere.  
  
He never declared himself. It was obvious Lewis liked him, but not like that. And two years later, when The Girl got pregnant and they married, the relationship that had been withering on the vine finally keeled over and died. Lewis became a bore, with nothing on his brain but the rug rat. Even when he had time to hang, all he could talk about was the blessed wife and his chip off the ol' block son. Snore city. Dylan stopped agreeing to get together and Lewis finally stopped calling.  
  
So what was he doing with his hand down his sweats, remembering the way Dr. John was looking at him tonight? Was he really gay, or would any sane human melt when a totally handsome wolf eyes you like a hunk of fresh meat? The comment about his hair pleased him to no end. Getting up to stand in front of the mirror, he supposed it did come off kind of Robert Smith-ish when it was clean and sticking up all over the place. Personally, he thought of it as his Tenpou Gensui look.  
  
Hand down his sweats again, it was safer to watch himself than the face haunting his imagination. He hadn't felt this horny in years, and it was glorious to know he wasn't dead after all. The fact that he seemed destined, yet again, for unrequited love didn't dim the waves of sensation coursing through his body. He tried to stay focused, watching himself writhe in front of the mirror, but the orgasm exploded as he closed his eyes and imagined it was John's hand and not his own.  
  
After all, Lewis never looked at him like _that!_  
  
to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

The bus ride to work was always shorter than Dylan preferred, depositing him at the hospital with depressing efficiency, but tonight it seemed to take forever. The slugs entering the bus had probably been standing at each stop for at least five minutes, but did the thought of getting their fare ready while they were waiting enter their little pea brains? No! They waited until they got on the bus to dig through their pockets or purses while he silently cursed them all.   
  
Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he ran up the stairs to his floor, forgetting he'd be out of breath if he bumped into Dr. John in The Terminals' room...which he did. Thankfully he caught the gasp before it escaped, but seeing the man exactly where he'd hoped he would be was simply too good to be true. John looked up with a smile, saying, “Dylan, hi,” before turning back to Mabel.   
  
Now Mabel was a creature right out of a child's nightmare, with a face like the principal from hell. Set in a perpetual scowl, she was one of the few Terminals crossing Dylan's path he couldn't warm up to, reminding him of a certain social worker he'd particularly loathed. The fact that she was dying of infection from two raging bedsores didn't help matters. She didn't smell so great, so it was easy to keep his distance. But there was John looking at her kindly, hand stroking her forehead and hair. “Elder abuse is a terrible thing,” he said quietly.   
  
It wasn't in her paperwork—Dylan read everyone's—but it made sense. She'd arrived over a week ago with the sores, and the doctors had given up trying to stem the infection because she was diabetic as well. No one had expected her to live this long, but she was clearly a knarly old bird and not ready to give up. Under Dr. John's gentle ministrations, however, the dour face seemed to soften a little, or maybe it was his imagination. Dylan was too flustered to think about it.   
  
To cover his distress, he wandered over to the new person in Joe's space and picked up their chart. Charlie was a wizened middle-aged man who had apparently pickled his liver with too much booze. Goosebumps announced John presence beside him, and he tried to keep his breathing steady. “You visit with them every night, don't you?” he stated, not really asking.   
  
“Yeah,” Dylan admitted.   
  
“I like that.”  
  
Dylan was terrified to look up but something forced him to. John wore a gentle smile, but there was that wolf thing going in his eyes again, a barely concealed hunger that was both flattering and disturbing. Dylan swam in the gaze until self-consciousness caught his awareness and he mumbled, “Uh, thanks.” He turned and forced himself to walk away from the intoxicating presence. “I should get back to work,” he said over his shoulder.   
  
“Good night,” replied Dr. John.   
  
It sounded final. He was going to disappear like yesterday, so Dylan's mind began to race. When there was no further communication as he opened the door to leave, he spoke without thinking. “Will I see you later?”   
  
Facing the man with trepidation, he was surprised to find him looking somewhat incredulous. “You want to?” John asked.  
  
Ignoring the larger implications of the question, Dylan watched himself speak, unbelieving, “There's a decent pancake place a block away. I get off at seven. If you do too, we could have breakfast.”   
  
John closed his eyes, a wistful smile on his face. “Temptations, temptations,” he mused, before opening them to say, “Sure. I'll meet you out front.”   
  
Dylan nodded. “Great!” he said, staying cool, then made his escape across the hall to his office. Locking the door, he couldn't keep from leaping about, just to let off steam, of course. It was going to be impossible to focus on coding tonight.  
  
John was as good as his word, waiting for him in the front lobby when his shift ended, and they managed to catch the last booth at the diner. He was easy to be with, drawing him out with questions and observations, and Dylan was amazed that he actually seemed to give a shit. He had a million questions of his own to ask, but somehow the conversation kept turning back to himself, and he found it quite enjoyable to share his ideas and feelings with another person.   
  
The unspoken conversation they were having was something else altogether. No matter how innocent their actual speech, Dylan couldn't ignore the undertones and John's meaningful glances. Thinking that he'd be pining over another straight man, it was a little overwhelming to find John apparently interested. He wasn't ready to approach and John said nothing outright, which was a relief, and yet when they settled up the bill at the cash register, Dylan had the distinct impression that the following exchange had occurred:  
  
 _You want to?  
  
Yeah._  
  
They walked outside and headed down the street together when John pulled him into the alley alongside the diner. “I need to go the other way,” he said, as though it explained why he was gathering an unresisting Dylan into his arms. There was time for a brief inner shriek, _Ohmygod he's going to kiss me!_ before it happened.   
  
Sweet, yet insistent, Dylan melted immediately against the strong chest and firm belly pressed to his own. The bulge he felt against his thigh made his knees weak, not that they weren't wobbly enough already. John smelled good and tasted even better, faintly of maple syrup and cafe latte. He kissed really well too, and Dylan felt his head begin to swim, desire aching in his groin.   
  
Instinctively, he pressed his hips forward and John returned the gesture, grinding into him with a quiet growl that made Dylan's guts do flip flops. His kisses grew more insistent, and Dylan moaned into them without realizing it. The hands on his ass felt so good, so lewd, he was feeling more aroused than ever before. The rhythm of their dance drew him onward, upward, his kiss drunk mind off in the stratosphere. And so, the inevitable occurred, and the glorious release exploded in his jeans with no warning at all.   
  
His orgasmic emoting had broken their kiss, and he blinked, opening his eyes to find John wearing the most radiant face imaginable. “Dylan,” he whispered. “Did you just come?”   
  
Shame and humiliation flooding his heart, he could only stammer, “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”   
  
“No, don't be!” John insisted, grinning. “I'm flattered.”  
  
Dylan couldn't take it in and pushed himself away. “I gotta go.”   
  
“Wait, it's okay,” John called.  
  
Dylan wasn't having any of it. He took off, feeling stupider than he'd ever felt in his life. As high as he'd been flying just a few minutes ago, he fell that much further into the depths of despair. How was he ever going to face the guy again? How could he be such a juvenile jerkoff? The wetness in his shorts laughed at him all the way home. In the end, they all laughed, didn't they? What was new?  
  
to be continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Dylan blew off work the next night, something he never did, but the idea of facing Dr. John after his virginal display of sexual dweebishness was too much to bear. Unfortunately, all the extra time on his hands did nothing to ease his mind. He put on DVD after DVD, trying to distract himself, but The Kiss continued to haunt his imagination.  
  
It had been the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him, and he couldn't stop replaying the scene over and over in all its glorious detail. The experience of someone else taking control had been very heady, and he finally understood why women longed for a man to sweep them off their feet. The girls he had kissed couldn't hold a candle to the talented, wily tongue that had set off fireworks in his groin. Remembering how the strong hands had possessed him, memorizing his body, made him feverish. And, thankfully, the humiliation he felt pondering the conclusion of the scene lessened after three shots of tequila. Head swimming with lust, he finally passed out after an inspired jack-off session starring himself and a most insistent Dr. John.  
  
By the next day, desire outweighed embarrassment and he was looking forward to work again. Popping into The Terminals' room first thing, he was disappointed to find only patients. Mabel's bed was empty, so he sat there and waited as long as he could before wandering back to his office. He became more hopeful as his shift wore on, sure Dr. John would stick his nose in and say hi the way he had the other night. But 7am came and went with no sign of him, and Dylan went home depressed.  
  
The following night brought a funk that wouldn't lift. Dylan couldn't shake the feeling that John was avoiding him. He cracked the personnel database, determined to snoop, but realized he didn't even know the guy's last name. John always kept his ID tucked into the breast pocket of his scrubs, so Dylan had never had a chance to peek, nor had he thought to ask. Frustrated, there was nothing to be done but work, which was actually a welcome distraction from his heavy heart.  
  
Finally, to ease the charley horse in his neck, he decided to take a break. It wasn't his usual time, but maybe that was good. Suddenly alive with anticipation, he held his breath as he opened the door to The Terminals' room, making a silent wish that was happily granted. Dr. John was at the far end of the space, digging through a cupboard of supplies. Dylan practically sprinted to his side. “Hey,” he said with practiced cool.  
  
John stood up. “Ah! Dylan. There you are.” He seemed flustered, scratching his head awkwardly and studying his shoes. “Um...let me apologize for the other day,” he began, finding it hard to look him in the eye. “It was most inappropriate and I should never have done it.”  
  
Dread crept into Dylan's guts. John looked ominously uncomfortable. “You didn't do anything _to_ me,” Dylan told him. "I was a willing participant and...uh....” His face was flaming but he didn't care. “Obviously, I liked it.”  
  
John looked at him sharply, the spark flaring in his eyes for a moment before he headed toward the door. Dylan followed like a puppy, exhilarated to know the hunger still existed, until something amazing caught his attention.  
  
Mary's eyes were open and her face was shining. “My, my,” she whispered, watching John walk by.  
  
John stopped and smiled, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Mary.”  
  
Dumbfounded that she had spoken at all, Dylan was amazed to watch her open her mouth, preparing to continue. John held a finger to his lips, however, shaking his head. She considered, then acquiesced, settling into the bed contentedly.  
  
“Soon,” he said, then continued toward the door. Her eyes remained glued to him, a blissful smile on her face, but Dylan was too busy strategizing to think anything more about it.  
  
John started down the hall, calling “Good night,” over his shoulder.  
  
The magic words had worked once, so he tried them again. “Will I see you later?”  
  
John stopped and turned to him, clearly reluctantly. “I don't know, Dylan. I could really catch hell for fraternizing with the...um...staff.”  
  
“How would anyone know?” Dylan asked.  
  
John chuckled ruefully. “Humans being what they are, one can never keep such things secret for long.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to run. Meet me at the diner after your shift if you want to talk.”  
  
Considering it was the most hopeful thing he'd heard all day, Dylan agreed, and it eased his heart enough that he could tear through his in-box after blowing things off for way too long.  
  
John was waiting outside and they stood together awkwardly. He looked sad, resigned, the wolflight gone from his eyes. “I'm sorry I was so selfish,” he said, quietly. “It was wrong of me.”  
  
“Stop apologizing,” Dylan told him. “It was good. I want more.”  
  
John's eyes widened, but he smiled wistfully, sighing, “It cannot be.”  
  
“Why not?” Dylan asked, feeling helpless, as though something precious was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
  
“It's scandalous in ways you cannot imagine,” John replied.  
  
“What? You mean the guy/guy thing?”  
  
“No, not that,” John told him. “I just think it's for the best we that end it here.”  
  
Dylan began to fume. Every do-gooder sticking their nose into his life after his mom died said the same fucking thing: we don't care what you want, it's best that you do what we want. “I'm not a kid,” he hissed. “You don't need to protect me from anything, least of all you!”  
  
The eyes that should have been heated were compassionate instead. “I'm sorry, Dylan,” he said, then turned on his heel and strode down the street.  
  
Too pissed and hurt to argue anymore, Dylan walked the other way.  
  
to be continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Dylan went to bed pissed, but woke up horny. John's seduction had acted like a drug and he was already addicted. Unwilling to face withdrawal, he decided to pursue the object of his desire, the flash of passion in John's eyes assuring him his feelings were not one-sided.  
  
His mind returned again and again to The Kiss. John had seemed like a man starving, hands studying him intently while his tongue danced a sultry tango with his own. It had felt so right to cling to those strong shoulders and grind into the cock barely contained by the thin material of his scrubs. The orgasm swept through his body like wildfire, and when he finally remembered that John had felt flattered by the event, the memory became even more arousing.  
  
He tried to imagine what might have happened next if he hadn't run away like a doofus. Would John have taken him home? Would they have had sex? The idea of getting naked together made Dylan feel feverish with lust. The only problem was, he couldn't find a way past the kissing and groping part. His feelings for John were far from platonic, but fantasizing about an erotic encounter proved difficult.  
  
What would they do? Would John want to fuck him? The butt sex thing did not seem the least bit appealing. He had never been moved to explore that part of himself when fooling around alone and none of his girlfriends had gone there either. As far as he was concerned, your ass was for one purpose only and that was that.  
  
Daring to dream, he wondered if John was into the oral thing. In his limited experience, blowjobs were the best thing about sex. He'd cultivated girls in high school he didn't even like much, just because they'd happily volunteer to do it and considered him a gentleman when he didn't try to score further. Unfortunately, his college girlfriend's distaste had been so apparent the first time she went there, his hornies flew out the window immediately leaving him feeling guilty and embarrassed instead. He'd never asked her to do it again and had been too lazy and anti-social to seek out a lover since they broke up.  
  
Imagining someone he desired actually wanting to suck him off seemed too good to be true. But, considering he'd never known a dude who didn't love blowjobs, it seemed reasonable to expect that gay men would be experts at the activity, right? Such thoughts fueled his determination to change John's mind. He wasn't sure why, but he felt strongly that the guy was worth fighting for, so he began to strategize his campaign.  
  
Never one to think well on his feet, he wrote out what he wanted to say and practiced it over and over, role-playing each part so that every possible contingency was covered. No matter what John said, Dylan had a viable response. He spent hours at it, but by the time he hopped on the bus to work he felt fully prepared and ready for battle.  
  
John was nowhere to be seen when he arrived, so he tackled his in-box in half hour increments, sprinting across the hall as often as possible in hopes of catching his prey coming or going. It took most of the night, but he finally ran into John—literally—as he opened the door to The Terminals' room and found it blocked by a body.  
  
“Ooof!” cried a familiar voice.  
  
“Oh...hey,” said Dylan, peering around the door, trying to keep his face neutral despite his pounding heart. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, stepping inside.  
  
“No, I'm fine,” John replied.  
  
He was clearly trying to figure out how to get around him and out the door, so Dylan knew it was now or never. “You need to take responsibility for what you did,” he began firmly, face stern.  
  
“Responsibility?” John mused, studying him intently. “I'm sorry Dy....”  
  
“Sorry doesn't cut it,” he interrupted. The reply was predictable and he was ready. “I don't have a switch I can turn off. I'm stuck with how I feel even if you're sorry.”  
  
“H...How do you feel?”  
  
John seemed flustered and it gave Dylan courage. “You make me horny,” he blurted truthfully.  
  
“Ah!” The beautiful man's eyes widened and he blushed. “Well, thank you.” He paused for a few seconds, considering, then added, “Would it help to know the feeling is mutual?”  
  
Oh, it did, but Dylan wasn't about to say so. “No!” he lied. “Not if you're going to take off.”  
  
“Who ran away first?”  
  
“Okay, I screwed up,” Dylan admitted. “But that's because I don't know what I want. You make me horny but I can't imagine having sex with a guy. I've never....” He trailed off, confidence fleeing, suddenly unable to meet John's gaze.  
  
“Oh, no,” John whispered. “No, no, no.” A great sigh could be heard, and then, “A virgin, the ultimate temptation. That's just not fair.”  
  
Dylan looked up to find a heated glance so intense, his heart soared even as he took a step backward without realizing it.  
  
“Arrugh!” John cried, turning away, hands clenched. “That's not fair!” he said to the ceiling.  
  
Unwilling to let the insult to his manly pride stand, Dylan told him, “Hey, I'm not a virgin.” John sighed again, shoulders sinking, and Dylan grew anxious the longer he stood there without saying anything. “Would it really be so bad for us to hang out?” he ventured, needing to break the silence.  
  
John finally turned to him, his smile gentle but the edge remaining in his glance. “Is that what you want to do? Hang out?”  
  
Face hot, mind suddenly blank, Dylan could only stammer, “Uhh...nn...nuh....”  
  
A brow arched in the handsome face. “Good. Me neither.” John seemed to go inside himself, eyes open but unseeing, and in a moment Dylan could almost feel the scales tipping in his favor. Then he grinned and shrugged. “Well, no one's ever called me Mr. Willpower. How about I take you to dinner? Would that compensate?”  
  
Dylan felt a burst of hope. Dinner was good, he could do that. Happy to leave the larger problem for later, he asked, “Where?”  
  
“Fancy or regular?”  
  
“Definitely regular.”  
  
“Cheap date, eh?” John winked, and Dylan's heart skipped a beat. “How about the Polish place a few blocks south. You know it?”  
  
It was a favorite so he nodded. “Cool. You live around here?”  
  
“Yes, about four blocks away,” John told him. “I float mostly between Cook County and Northwestern Memorial, so it's easiest.”  
  
“Why don't you live on the lakefront?” Dylan asked, remembering the shabby little houses in the neighborhood around the hospital.  
  
John shuddered. “I could never live in a high rise. They move in the wind, you know.”  
  
Dylan knew, and had to admit he found the sensation creepy too. “Yeah. It'd be like living in a sardine can, anyway,” he agreed, loving his cozy brownstone. The building housed only two other apartments besides his own, and the elderly couple who lived below him were quiet and kept to themselves. “I'm in Roscoe Village, off the Ashland bus,” he offered.  
  
“Nice,” John replied. “There's some great restaurants up there. Do you like mid-Eastern food?”  
  
“Oh, yeah!” Dylan enthused.  
  
“Good. Maybe next time, then.” John came near and Dylan held his breath, hoping he'd receive another kiss. Instead, John said, “We will need to be discreet, my delectable young morsel. I'll be completely honest with you. If we do what I think we're going to do, I'll be breaking some huge rules, so if we get caught I imagine I'll be forced to end it. Can you deal with that?”  
  
“I can deal,” Dylan told him. He was willing to take that risk, just to come in the beautiful man's arms once again.  
  
John smiled, the wolflight in his eyes glinting like fire. “See you at Maria's tomorrow, then? Five-thirty?”  
  
“Five-thirty,” Dylan promised, waiting to dance his jig until John left the room.  
  
to be continued

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dylan almost missed John sitting in the booth at Maria's since he was looking for a man in scrubs and found him in street clothes instead. He looked totally hot in faded jeans and a dark green shirt, so Dylan could do little more than stare. “Almost didn't recognize you,” he admitted, sitting down, heart pounding in his ears.  
  
“I didn't want to come to dinner in uniform,” John told him.  
  
The waitress arrived and Dylan ordered his usual cabbage pierogies, while John chose potato and cheese with grilled onions on the side. “I don't like the beef here,” he confided.  
  
Dylan felt the same, and it pleased him to find John on a similar wavelength. “My gramma's were better,” he bragged, “but these aren't bad.”  
  
“Wozniak,” John read off his ID. “Is that Polish?”  
  
Dylan nodded. “I grew up on the South Side. What about you? You've got an accent I can't place.”  
  
“Old World charm, that's me,” John grinned. “I've lived in the U.S. so long, I thought I'd lost it. Slavic folks are fascinating,” he continued, eying Dylan meaningfully. “So passionate.”  
  
Willing the blush away proved unsuccessful. “Uh...I must've been somewhere else when they were passing that out.”  
  
“What are you on your mother's side?” John asked. “I love how Americans are always mutts.”  
  
“Wozniak belongs to my mom's family," Dylan told him. “I don't know my dad's nationality. He was out of the picture before I came along.”  
  
“Your mother never discussed him?”  
  
Dylan shrugged. “I was eight when she died. I don't remember her talking about him.”  
  
Their dinner arrived and Dylan felt relieved to have an excuse to shut up. Somehow John always got him talking and never said a word about himself. Resolving to change the situation immediately, he blurted suavely, “Your last name is always hiding in your pocket. What is it?”  
  
John seemed nonplussed. “Aubrey. John Aubrey. What?”  
  
Dylan couldn't stop grinning. “I've been reading _Master and Commander_ because I like Jack Aubrey.”  
  
“Oooh, Twilight Zone,” John teased, matching his expression. “That was a good movie. I like the guy who played him...whatever his name is.”  
  
“Russell Crowe,” Dylan said.  
  
“Ah, yes! Thank you. Quite the man,” John enthused. “He was good in that gladiator movie too.”  
  
Tinny music broke into their conversation and John fished his cell out of his breast pocket to check the ID. “Hey, what's up?” he said, smiling. After listening for a few moments, he replied, “I thought that was happening tomorrow.” Another pause and then, “Okay, I'll go if there's no one else. Later.”  
  
He closed his phone and eyed Dylan with a resigned air. “I've got to handle something at Swedish Covenant tonight.”  
  
“What kind of doctor are you, anyway?” Dylan finally had the wherewithal to ask.  
  
John tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Psychiatry,” he said. “Elder transitions. Death, dying, bereavement counseling. That's my focus.”  
  
A small, fearful place inside Dylan took a deep breath and relaxed. It made sense, and answered a bunch of questions he hadn't known he'd been asking.  
  
“So, Dylan,” John ventured, startling him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing chasing after an old man like me?”  
  
Dylan looked up to find two wolflit eyes gazing at him hungrily and couldn't stifle a gasp. “Are you old?” he asked, to cover his ass.  
  
John peered at him curiously. “Oh, yes. Quite old, I'm afraid.”  
  
“You don't look it,” Dylan told him, truthfully, feeling more confident as John's eyes widened.  
  
“Why, thank you!” His friend beamed. “I'm vain, I admit it. But doesn't the prospect daunt you? I'm old enough to be your father.”  
  
Dylan shrugged. He wasn't surprised, nor did he care, concluding that John at any age would make his guts quake and his cock hard. Something else concerned him more. “What about you?” he pressed. “Why are you into a skinny twerp like me?”  
  
John chuckled. “Are you a twerp?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Dylan admitted, unsure why he always had to tell this man the truth. “I haven't gotten laid for over a year.”  
  
“I'm surprised.”  
  
“I don't like people very much,” came the explanation.  
  
“And yet you spend your breaks visiting with the terminal patients,” John noted.  
  
“That's different,” Dylan told him.  
  
“How so?” John asked. “They're people, the kind most folks choose to avoid, even doctors.”  
  
“They don't bug me like other people,” Dylan said. “It's peaceful with them. I feel comfortable.”  
  
John's fond glance was making him blush again. Damn! “Well, that's what caught my attention,” he said.  
  
“What do you mean?” Dylan asked.  
  
“I watched you go in there every night and it intrigued me,” John replied.  
  
Goosflesh crept up Dylan's spine. “W-Watched me?”  
  
John blanched for a moment, then quickly recovered. “Well, in a manner of speaking.”  
  
Saved by the bell, John's cell went off again, although this time inspection of the ID elicited a frown. He seemed to debate whether to answer, then finally picked up. “Yes, sir,” he began. After a few moments he said, “Yes, Gabe told me earlier. I'm all set. I'll handle it.” There was another very long pause, and Dylan could hear a deep voice droning on and on while John rolled his eyes.  
  
Then suddenly he sat up straight, eyes wary. “I'm having dinner. Polish, very tasty.” There was another pause while John's face grew stormy, and finally he hissed, “Surely you didn't call to bother me about that. I'll be there tonight. Now, goodbye!”  
  
He snapped his phone shut and sighed, shaking his head. “I believe some folks come into creation with a stick up their ass.”  
  
Dylan chuckled, knowing several such types himself. “Your boss?” he asked.  
  
John nodded. “Pretty much.” He glanced at his watch and said, “My shift starts at seven. You too?”  
  
“Nope, not till eleven,” Dylan told him.  
  
John looked pained. “Oh dear! I'm sorry. Staff don't pull twelve hour shifts, do they?”  
  
“Don't sweat it,” Dylan said, honestly. “There's a coffee shop around the corner and I've got my game on me. I can hang.” In fact, a few hours of level-slutting while he daydreamed about a certain person sounded just about right.  
  
“Well, okay,” John replied, unsure. “Next time we'll eat in your neighborhood. How about that?”  
  
Next time sounded very fine and gave Dylan strength. “So, do you want to meet after work for...um...breakfast?” he ventured bravely.  
  
John's face went instantly impish. “Dylan for breakfast. Hmmm....” He contemplated dreamily for a moment, then leaned forward and whispered, “Is it really true you've never been with a man before?”  
  
Dylan nodded, unsure of his voice under the piercing, lustful gaze. “You have?” he managed to ask.  
  
John smiled sheepishly. “What's the point of having a body if you're not going to enjoy it?”  
  
Dylan had never found his body particularly enjoyable, so the question surprised him even as it sparked a deeper desire. It was frightening to feel so vulnerable, in such desperate need for something outside himself, but his heart literally ached to give over to the experience. “I'd like to learn how,” he admitted, shyly.  
  
“Ah,” John sighed, smiling wistfully. “Such a temptation.”  
  
The seconds ticked by as he pondered the issue yet again. Finally, the impish expression returned. “Well, Dylan, if you really want to leave your sweet virgin self in my hands, I'd be honored to have you for breakfast.”  
  
to be continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner, and the promise made afterward, seemed more and more unreal as Dylan's shift wore on. He was ready to believe it was all a dream until a familiar face peered inside his office door a little after 4am.  
  
“Hey!” said John, smiling. “Do you still want to get together for breakfast?”  
  
Dylan nodded, unsure of his voice.  
  
“Your place or mine?”  
  
He thought about the dirty laundry littering the bedroom floor and couldn't remember when he'd last changed his sheets.  
  
Perhaps he winced, for John concluded, “My place, then, although yours would be safer. My people have a bad habit of turning up without notice, but I suppose we'll have to chance it.” He strode over to Dylan's desk and scribbled his address on a note pad. “The doorbell is broken, so just knock."  
  
“K,” Dylan managed to reply.  
  
“Good,” John said, looking hungry again as he opened the door to leave. “Later.”  
  
Thus, at 7:10 Dylan found himself standing in front of a plain brick, salt box-style house, like all the others in the neighborhood, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. The yearning in his heart and the ache in his groin finally outweighed his fears of the unknown and he stepped forward to bang on the front door.  
  
Dylan was greeted by a shirtless John, who promptly took advantage of his gaping mouth to kiss him soundly, efficiently backing him against the foyer wall. And then it was all happening again, just like his memories and fantasies. The maple-flavored tongue was behaving most lewdly and bold hands grabbed his ass, pulling their hips together in a sensuous grind.  
  
He hadn't realized the doofy mewling sounds had been coming from him until John backed away briefly and he was startled back to sensibility. Tugging the T shirt out of his jeans, the man clearly intended to remove it along with his sweater, so Dylan obediently raised his arms and allowed him to do so. Whimpering at the shock of warm skin against his own, the hair on John's chest tickled a constant reminder of who was kissing him again.  
  
Hands that had been reluctant to move from John's waistband began to wander of their own accord. There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh to be found on the body in Dylan's arms, yet John's backside was pleasingly cushy, almost like a woman's ass, but more muscular. It felt comforting to squeeze, especially when rewarded by all the quiet moans and exquisitely placed grinding.  
  
Head swimming, lower half singing, Dylan melted into their dance. He couldn't remember when holding someone had ever felt so sweet. All those lovely little sparklers were starting to go off when the tongue he'd been sucking on suddenly withdrew.  
  
“Whoa there, Astro Boy,” John said with an amused smile. “No blast off till I say.” Dylan blinked, still in outer space, and John chuckled. Grabbing his hand, he intoned, “Come with me,” and pulled him down the hall.  
  
Dylan's kiss drunk mind cognized a sparely-appointed living room before he found himself sitting on a bed with John kneeling in front, unzipping his jeans. “What'cha got for me, sweet boy?” he asked, voice husky. “Slavic men are often... _ohhh yes!_ And intact, too. Ummm.” John nuzzled, face blissful, as Dylan gaped in amazement, trying not to squeak at the delightful sensations.  
  
“I've got nothing to brag about,” John confessed as he pushed Dylan backwards and dragged him higher on the bed. Gazing at him lustfully, eyes practically burning his skin, he continued, “But you...your body is amazing. Men didn't have bodies like yours until recently. When agriculture was the thing they were shorter, broader. You're tall and willowy with a face as beautiful as a woman's, yet equipment like....” He cocked one brow and gave Dylan's crotch an appreciative nod. “It's a wonderful incongruity.”  
  
Such words had never been uttered by a lover in Dylan's previous experience and he basked, happily, letting them warm both his heart and his cheeks. It was almost too much goodness to take in, and he wasn't sure if his perceptions of himself could rise to meet such lofty observations. At any moment, he he was sure he would come to and find that he'd hit his head in the shower or something.  
  
“May I?” John reached for Dylan's glasses, and received a nod. Placing them on the nightstand, he turned again to his blushing lover. “Do you know who you look like?”  
  
Dylan cringed inwardly. Everyone said the same person and it was tiresome. He asked anyway.  
  
“Edward Sizzorhands...without the scars, of course,” John told him. “Maybe it's the hair,” he added quickly, noting Dylan's stunned expression.  
  
Dylan laughed, unexpectedly pleased. “Usually I get Johnny Depp,” he confided. “And I'm like, uh, sure. But Edward...yeah. That's great.”  
  
“That movie made me cry,” John said. “But I love the music. And you do look a lot like Johnny Depp. Is that bad? He's one of those people too beautiful to be human.”  
  
“Nah. 'S okay, I guess,” Dylan mumbled, never comfortable with the comparison.  
  
“Your face is leaner,” John told him. “You don't have that chipmunk cheek thing going on. And your eyes are a most unusual shade of blue while his are brown, correct? Between your fair skin, dark hair and blue eyes—true blue like the sky on a cloudless day—the effect is stunning, you know.”  
  
Groaning, Dylan threw his hands over his face. That the words were coming from a man who was handsome in ways Dylan always envied made the compliments that much harder to bear. He could hear John chuckling and then... _ohmygod!_ Soft breath traveled down his belly, sending shivers cascading, and all his prayers were answered when the warm mouth took him inside.  
  
Skillful, sinful, John's technique was flawless, and Dylan found himself jealously wondering who he'd practiced on in the past. The naughtiness made short work of such insecure ruminations, however, and he was soon focused only on the glowing brightness at the core of his being, growing strong so quickly that he decided a warning was in order.  
  
“It's okay,” John assured him. “Let's pop you off now and then I bet you'll last a nice long time later.”  
  
Dylan focused on the first part of the message since he didn't understand the second, and let himself relax into the sensations. No lover before, even the truly enthusiastic ones, had done him like this. Preferring that it would go on all day, John's abilities insured there was no denying the looming orgasm. When it exploded, John devoured it all, milking him so perfect he soared heavenward, while his hands caressed the silky head of his amazing lover.  
  
After such an exhilarating experience and on top of a long work day, Dylan was ready to snooze, but John wouldn't let him be. Sharp teeth nibbled along his collarbone, sending goosebumps down his arm, and the attention his nipple was receiving caused so much squirming that John settled his weight more firmly alongside him, laying a thigh over his own to keep him still.  
  
Nothing was left unexamined and tasted, even secret, hidden places no lover had dared explore before. His body screamed exhaustion but his lover was merciless, evoking impossible to ignore sensations that fanned the flames once again. The torture continued until Dylan was whimpering, unaware he'd been whispering, “Please...please...” until John looked up from a bruised nipple and gave him a sly grin.  
  
“Please what?” he asked, as he continued to dish out the most the exquisite hand job imaginable.  
  
“Please make me come...or stop,” Dylan begged. “I can't take it anymore. It almost hurts.”  
  
“Ah, it's time, then,” came the gleeful reply.  
  
Through bleary eyes, Dylan watched him reach into the nightstand drawer and felt a cold wash of dread as John poured clear liquid into his palm. _Here it comes. I'm gonna die!_ he thought in a panic, his ass clenching involuntarily.  
  
But then came a shock. The lube was cooling his heated cock, and John was straddling his hips. _What the fuck?!?_ “W-What are you doing?” Dylan stammered, not believing what was happening.  
  
“You're not ready to get laid tonight, are you?” John asked.  
  
“No,” came the heartfelt reply.  
  
“I didn't think so, but I am! It's been too long.” And with closed eyes and a contented sigh he began to settle himself onto an open-mouthed Dylan. “Besides,” he continued, “if you see how much I like it, you won't be so afraid.”  
  
 _Holy shit! He wants me to fuck him!_ Suddenly awake and aware, Dylan became terrified he would bump into something as John's body continued to envelop him, but thankfully he did not. The journey was mind-bending and he felt almost giddy, all his fears flown, as the warm tightness shot electric sparks up his spine. Finally fully seated, John looked down with a smoky smile that sent his senses reeling. “You'll give me a wild ride, won't you, my fine stallion?" he asked.  
  
Dylan nodded, sure his voice would crack if he spoke, amazed at the pleasure radiating out of his lover's face. And then John was moving, getting a rhythm going, and little stars were going off in his head. It didn't feel like being inside a woman, but it felt just fine nonetheless. Maybe this butt sex thing had something to it after all.  
  
John's bump and grind was hotter than any stripper he'd paid for a lap dance. Dylan looked up at him in wonder, the ripped chest sheened with sweat looked so masculine compared to his, especially with its slight spray of hair running across the breastbone and down to the goods below. Between his handsome face, sunlit hair and burnished skin, he almost looked like a god.  
  
“Touch me,” the golden man whispered, lowering his head to plant a kiss on Dylan's forehead. “Please.”  
  
Dylan reached for the first cock not his own without hesitation. It was smaller than his, not so much in length but in width, and it was circumcised which was a curiosity. He knew it was typical, but felt grateful he'd somehow avoided it. Finding it slick with pre-cum, he decided it would probably like the kinds of strokes his did and gave that a try. John's grateful moans told him he was on the right track.  
  
Eyes closed, the familiar work of his right hand didn't stop his psyche from soaring into the bliss. He decided this whole laying back and getting it thing was really great. In the past, it had always been his job to make the girl come. He hadn't even realized what a burden it was until it was taken from him by the beautiful man sitting on his dick, very obviously getting off on getting him off. It was fucking amazing!  
  
Startled by a growl at his ear, Dylan was gathered into strong arms. “Sit up,” John whispered. Assembling his wits, he did so and John fell backwards, pulling him onto his chest. Still impaled, John took him deeper and commanded, “Okay lover, let me have it.”  
  
Still working out the sudden shift in position, Dylan felt unsure. “You really want me to fuck you?”  
  
“What have you been doing for the past ten minutes?” John asked with a seductive smile, looking too sexy for words, all blushy and flushed.  
  
“That seemed different somehow,” Dylan told him, honestly. Now he was the responsible one again and it didn't feel right. Not with John.  
  
“Please do it,” John said, pulling him down into a persuasive kiss. “You're so perfect inside me and I'm feeling lazy. If you'd just shift your hips a little lower and thrust upwards like.... Oh, yes! Just like that!”  
  
And so he did as he was told, and it was the best fuck of his life. John received him with such enthusiasm, it sent his ego soaring. Happy to fulfill his explicit demands, there was no question about who was still in control, and that was a huge relief. When the magnificent man beneath him cried his name at the end, Dylan almost wept at the sweetness of it, understanding for the first time the meaning of the words “making love."  
  
to be continued


	8. Chapter 8

Waking up in a strange bed hadn't been a common experience in Dylan's life, but he was glad that, this time, it didn't feel so weird. The room was simply decorated, with a few personal effects scattered on the dresser and sheets that smelled of detergent, not John. There was a decided air of sex still in the space, however, and that brought back a rush of happy memories.  
  
John was right. Witnessing how much he had enjoyed getting laid made Dylan passionately curious about the experience. Every time the orgasm began to lurk John would whisper, “Wait. Slow down. Not yet,” tightening the legs wrapped around his waist to limit his thrusting.  
  
It became a matter of pride to keep it up for as long as the beautiful man desired, but Dylan soon learned that he could think of nothing stupid, boring or creepy enough to keep his body under control when he had a blushing John moaning underneath him. When he finally heard, “It's okay, let go!” the warmth spattering his belly and the convulsions around him sent him skyward into the most fulfilling orgasm of his life.  
  
It had felt so right to collapse onto the broad chest, feel loving hands caressing his back and stroking his hair, he could scarcely believe it was really happening. John held him until he fell asleep, but he woke up alone, although he could hear music playing out in the living room. Smiling in contentment, he reached under the blanket to find his cock as peaceful and lazy as he. He wasn't used to feeling so good after sex, and decided the experience was well worth repeating.  
  
Unaware he'd been dozing, Dylan was startled awake by a knock at the front door. “Hey!” he heard John say. “What are you doing here? Come on in.”  
  
The voice was deep and had the lilt of India in the accent. “When I think of wining and dining in this fair city, who else should I call on? Don't you have Fridays off?”  
  
“I'd love to, but can't 'til later,” came the reply. “I've got...uh...company.”  
  
“Rafe is here?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“John!” the man gasped. “You haven't!” There was a pregnant pause as Dylan strained to listen and then he continued, “It's hypocritical of me to criticize, of course. But honestly, my friend, what are you thinking?”  
  
“I'm not,” John told him.  
  
“That's obvious.” The man chuckled. “I daresay Himself would even be pleased, but if Big M finds out, it won't be pretty. Doing it here isn't the height of discretion.”  
  
“If I'm not here that raises questions too,” John argued.  
  
“Yes. Which is why you should end it before you're in over your head.”  
  
“Too late for that.”  
  
Dylan heard a frustrated sigh. “Management is convening here this weekend with all their entourage. Any of them could show up. Why do you think I'm here?”  
  
“Gabe's got you on a short leash, does she?” John teased.  
  
“You don't hear me complaining,” the deep voice retorted. “I went through hell and learned my lesson. You've been good for so long, John. Why now?”  
  
“Don't know,” John said. “It's not like I was looking for it. Anyway, sorry about dinner, but I can meet you at eleven after he heads off to work.”  
  
“He?” the man asked. “Ah, it was ever so. Do you miss them that much, John, to do this? A part of me understands, but when you've had the best...really. Will this suffice?”  
  
“For now, yes,” John replied, without hesitation.  
  
Dylan exhaled in relief, unaware he'd been holding his breath.  
  
“Well, my friend, I'll leave you to it,” the Indian man decided. “Top of the Hancock Building at eleven, then?”  
  
“I'll be there,” John promised.  
  
“Cogniac or sherry?” came the question.  
  
“Whiskey.”  
  
Laughing, the man exited, and Dylan was trying to decide whether he felt jealous or not when John appeared in the doorway wearing faded jeans and a T shirt. “Ah, you're awake,” he observed, looking so alluring Dylan's heart responded immediately. “It's four, and I wasn't sure whether you'd want to go home before your shift.”  
  
Sitting next to him on the bed, he leaned down to place a most tender kiss on Dylan's lips before asking, “Did you hear anything that concerned you?”  
  
He had, so it was a relief to blurt, “Who was that?”  
  
“A very old friend,” John told him. “One who lives far away, so I don't get to see him often enough.”  
  
It was nosy, but he had to ask. “An ex?”  
  
“Sid?!?” John laughed and shook his head. “That one is straight as an arrow, a ladies man from way back. And these days he's hooked up with one of the most beautiful females in creation, so I can't imagine him straying.”  
  
The relief Dylan felt was almost orgasmic, but John's deflated aspect worried him. “Are you okay?” he asked.  
  
“I'm not happy to learn my boss is in town and I wasn't told,” John replied, frowning. “It means I'll have to be good this weekend, which ruins my plans.” He gave Dylan a lusty glance that made his cock twitch, but sighed and leaned down, burying his face in Dylan's neck.  
  
Dylan's arms went round him, amazed by how comfortable it felt to hold onto this body. “It's okay if we can't get together,” he said, truthfully. “What happened today could carry me for weeks if it had to. I can wait 'till Monday to see you if that's the way it is.”  
  
“Ummm,” John replied, shifting position to snuggle more closely and kiss him behind the ear. “You're sweet. Maybe we could get together Sunday, but it will have to be at your place. It's too dangerous around here. In fact, leaving soon would probably be a good idea. How about I take you to dinner before your shift?”  
  
“That'd be great,” Dylan enthused.  
  
John didn't seem to be going anywhere, though. He was still for several long moments before lifting his head and laying it on Dylan's chest. “Such a strong heart,” he murmured. And then, so quietly Dylan could barely hear it, he added, “But will it be strong enough?”  
  
to be continued 


	9. Chapter 9

No matter how hard he tried to remember every detail, the next few days remained forever blurred in a rosy erotic glow. Dylan could recall watching John at dinner. How every movement, even how he breathed, turned him on. But their conversation escaped him, and he remained unsure of what they had spoken of, only that he had felt comfortable and at ease.  
  
They had exchanged phone numbers before they parted, and the look in John's eyes when he said, “I'll try to escape Sunday afternoon,” made Dylan believe he'd better spend tomorrow getting his place presentable for a guest. No one had been in his bedroom since Jessica left over a year ago, and it showed.  
  
Work that night went quickly. Strangely, he didn't miss John when he knew he wouldn't be around, and he had an inner theater full of lusty memories to sustain him through the dull routines. The only thing marring the evening was discovering Mary's bed empty. He knew she had been in horrible pain, but he wished she'd stuck around a little longer to share his happiness.  
  
Sighing, he chided himself for being so selfish and picked up the chart of the new lady in her space. Sally Ruth was another inoperable cancer patient, but Dylan's heart wasn't feeling big enough that night to say hello. It seemed a little disloyal to Mary, so he checked up on the others and then buried his nose in coding until it was time to go home.  
  
It had taken most of Saturday afternoon to clean to his satisfaction, as well as drag three loads of laundry down to the basement to wash, but his reward was a call from John that evening asking for his address and whispering a lewd promise or two.  
  
When the doorbell buzzed Sunday at noon Dylan was barely awake, but the golden sun standing in his doorway perked him up better than a cup of espresso. “Wow!” John enthused, dropping a cloth shopping bag on the floor. “Your apartment is huge. I could practically fit my whole house in your living room.”  
  
It was true, so Dylan could only shrug as he showed John around the place. They never made it to the bedroom. Backed against the kitchen wall, groping inside each other's pants, Dylan was too aroused to play coy or tease. Tounges dancing, hands busy, they accomplished the deed quickly but with great satisfaction. John lewdly licked his fingers clean but Dylan turned to the sink sheepishly, rinsing off and handing John a towel.  
  
“Since you've been so generous with your goodies, I've brought some too,” he announced, zipping up and striding out to the front room. Dylan followed, watching as John grabbed the shopping bag and made himself comfortable on the couch. Dylan sat next to him as he pulled things out—cheese, bread, wine, tampenade and other delicacies—then turned to him with glee. “Look!” he exclaimed. “A friend let me borrow this. It's the best movie and I haven't seen it in decades.”  
  
Dylan couldn't hide his pained expression. “ _The Princess Bride?_ ” he asked, doubtfully. He'd seen it at the video store and always thought it was a chick's movie. With a lame title like that, it had to be.  
  
Noting his uncertainty, John insisted, “It's really good. You'll see. Please?”  
  
Dylan stuck the movie in the player, feeling as skeptical at first as the little boy sick in bed. But the film soon swept him away, and having his own version of the beautiful Westley snuggled next to him on the couch didn't hurt either, although Inigo the swordsman was the character he got the hots for. The movie was good, he had to admit, but he had forgotten how heady it was to have a crush on someone within immediate reach.  
  
Remembering John's kisses better than the plot, Dylan could have passed a test concerning the freckles and moles appearing on the otherwise perfect skin. John always smelled like he had just come from a pancake house and Dylan kept finding his face buried in John's neck, happily breathing in the delicious scent of his tasty lover.  
  
They had planned to go out to dinner, but between the wine and the myriad snacks (both edible and non) they ended up staying home. John's cell rang several times during the afternoon and evening, but he didn't even look at the ID, which felt flattering but also concerned Dylan a bit. “Shouldn't you answer?” he asked at the last outburst of tinny music, not wanting John to get into trouble at his expense.  
  
“Yes,” he replied, “but this weekend was a big pain and I've decided I get the night off.”  
  
As though on cue, there was a knock on the front door and John froze, face ashen, until a reedy female voice was heard on the other side. “Dylan. Are you home?”  
  
“It's the lady downstairs,” Dylan explained, leaping to open it. “What's up, Mrs. Goldberg?” he asked.  
  
“Manny's trying to move the couch all by himself,” she told him. “Will you help before he gives himself a hernia?”  
  
Dylan turned to John with a resigned smile. “Come on. It'll only take a minute.”  
  
John followed to the first floor apartment and indeed, there was an elderly man trying to lurch a huge sofa across the living room carpet. It took more than a minute to arrange the room to Mrs. Goldberg's satisfaction, but she sent them upstairs with two slices of homemade apple pie for their trouble, and Dylan was relieved John didn't seem to mind the interruption of their evening.  
  
In fact, the first thing out of his mouth as they arrived back upstairs was, “You're a little angel of mercy, aren't you?”  
  
“Who me?” Dylan blustered. “Nah! I just help them out every so often.”  
  
“Well, what do you think angels do, anyway?” John asked.  
  
“They don't shit and fart and spend all day yesterday cleaning up the grime on every horizontal surface in this apartment,” Dylan insisted.  
  
John grinned then belched loudly. “They don't?”  
  
“Ha. Ha,” Dylan replied, drolly, rolling his eyes.  
  
John plopped on the couch, patting it for Dylan to join him. When Dylan did so, he received an affectionate squeeze. “Honestly,” John said warmly, “isn't it a blessing that you're here to help when they need it?”  
  
Dylan shrugged, never having considered it that way. “I suppose, but it's nothing. Anyone would do it.”  
  
“No they wouldn't,” came the firm reply.  
  
Startled at John's tone, Dylan looked up into admiring eyes, causing him to get hot in the face and elsewhere. To cover his ass, he pulled the beautiful man into a kiss, straddling his hips in the process. “Maybe this time you should do it to me,” he whispered after, grinding himself into the lump quickly forming under the zipper of John's jeans.  
  
“Hmmm,” John considered. “All in good time, my pretty. All in good time.” Wrapping his arms around Dylan's hips, he stood and headed off in the direction of the bedroom.  
  
“Jeez, don't break your back!” Dylan protested, surprised at John's strength. It felt silly being carried, but John deposited him on the bed soon enough and that's where his memories began to get hazy. He remembered laying on his back as the angel hovered over, kissing him drunk, touching him wicked, straddling his hips yet again while he protested half-heartedly.  
  
“Shhh,” John soothed. “I'm a greedy thing, my sweet, and I want all the candy you've got to give.” A sensual lowering of hips engulfed him in flames and he was lost.  
  
The day burned rose gold into Dylan's memories and he fell to dozing, arms wrapped around the most precious treasure his life had yet to bring him. “Tell me it'll be like this forever,” he whispered, knowing the request was stupid but not caring, although the sleepy reply gave him hope.  
  
“As you wish."  
  
to be continued 


	10. Chapter 10

He had that dream again—the weird lucid one that always ended the same way. As was typical, he thought he'd been awakened by noise in the living room, so he got out of bed and headed down the hall expecting to find John puttering out there. As he walked, suddenly something grabbed him under the arms and flung him upwards, through the ceiling and out into space.  
  
Flying around he thought, _I'm pretty vulnerable out here, I better ask for help_. Then suddenly a star—maybe the sun—came into view. Dazzling bright, he was drawn to its warmth and found himself flying towards it. As the golden light enveloped him, he felt such safety and love in every cell of his being he had an orgasm, which startled him awake, amazed to discover he'd been dreaming all along.  
  
The sticky mess in his boxers only distracted him long enough to realize he'd woken up alone yet again, and could hear no ambient noises in the apartment. Changing quickly, he padded out to the living room and found a note on the coffee table, written in beautiful, old-fashioned script he could actually read (as opposed to the usual MD scratching).

 

 _I got an early call, sorry I had to leave._  
Thanks for yesterday.  
I'll stop by your office tonight.  
  
John

  
He had John's cell now and was sorely tempted to call just to hear the sound of his voice, but talked himself out of it. John had straightened up before he left, putting their dirty dishes in the sink and the leftover goodies in the fridge. Dylan couldn't remember when anyone had taken care of him like that—fed him, pet him, then put him to bed with a smile on his face. It touched his heart deeply, making him feel warm and happy in ways that were strange but quite delicious.  
  
John's promise of a visit that night made it hard to find ways to distract himself before it was finally time to go to work. But even with his mind on his fantasies, Dylan couldn't miss the extraordinary sight as the large revolving doors deposited him inside the hospital. There, in the middle of the bustling foyer, was John talking to two very striking people. The man and woman were both taller than he, in navy business suits so perfectly tailored that at first glance Dylan thought they were in the military.  
  
He ducked next to a pillar, wishing he could get close enough to hear their conversation but fearing to be noticed. The three were having a spirited discussion and Dylan could do nothing but observe and wonder. The man was African-American, handsome with chiseled features seemingly set in a permanent scowl, his shoulder-length dreadlocks in fascinating contrast with the impeccable suit. He stood with arms crossed over his chest, letting his partner do most of the talking.  
  
The woman was white, with blond hair that had to be quite long, considering the size of the bun at the back of her head. Some might have called her beautiful, but her severe hairstyle and tight-lipped aspect gave Dylan shrew vibes. The way she was shaking her finger at John like an uptight schoolteacher didn't help either. _Ice bitch. Valkyrie_ , Dylan thought, for she seemed frighteningly cold and heartless.  
  
John looked defiant at first, then resigned, and finally deflated by the time her harangue was through. Dylan decided he hated her guts, certain that John was in trouble because of their time together yesterday. He felt ambivalent about John not answering his phone. While it was probably the cause of all his trouble, it had felt flattering, and any one of those calls could have taken John away from him, ruining their lovely day, so he didn't know what to think.  
  
 _Never fall in love with a doctor_ , the secretaries and nurses always said, _everyone else is more important than you_. Well, John had put him above all others and look where it got him. It made Dylan feel honored, guilty...and very protective. It took every ounce of his willpower not to step up to the bitch and give her a piece of his mind, even though he knew he'd make a fool of himself.  
  
It went without saying that Dylan's mind was not on his work that night. The mysterious interaction he'd witnessed kept haunting his thoughts, and he found himself spending more time in The Terminals' room than usual, almost willing John to show up and calm his worries.  
  
When four am came and went, he returned to his in-box with a sigh, hoping the troublesome project he'd been putting off all night would help keep the gloomies at bay. Thus his nose was deeply buried in smelly coding doodoo when he heard the door open. Heart in throat, he looked up see John step inside and lock the door behind him. Grinning impishly, he asked, “Is this room under surveillance?”  
  
“I don't think so,” Dylan replied, practically leaping into his lover's arms. They shared a lingering kiss, hands groping each other's ass, and Dylan was so relieved that John seemed unchanged even after being raked over the coals by whoever they were, he almost wept. When they finally came up for air, John's smile caused his heart to skip a beat.  
  
“Shall we meet again for breakfast after work?” he asked, face innocent but eyes twinkling.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Dylan enthused, happy to play along. “I missed out on my nosh this morning, so I'm pretty hungry.”  
  
John pressed his forehead to Dylan's. “I'm sorry I had to leave, but I can remain incommunicado for only so long.”  
  
“It's okay,” Dylan said, honestly, pulling John down into another kiss. It was true he was hungry and had not yet had his fill. Just holding the man felt nourishing, and his kisses could probably convey superpowers, they were so enlivening. Dylan began to imagine decadent scenarios on the spare desk in the corner when John broke their embrace and pulled away reluctantly.  
  
“You know I care for you, right?” he whispered, gently stroking the side of his face.  
  
Dylan nodded, unsure of his voice.  
  
“A _lot_ ,” he emphasized, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning abruptly, he strode toward the door, facing him one last time before exiting.  
  
“No matter what happens,” he stated, eyes intense. “Remember that.”  
  
to be continued


	11. Chapter 11

Knowing that John wanted to get together again made Dylan so happy it was embarrassing, even to himself. The excitement carried him through the rest of his shift, never realizing they hadn't discussed where or when they were to meet until he was out in the hall locking his office. Nonplussed, he headed down to the lobby, feeling certain they would bump into each other somehow.  
  
Grinning at his correct assumption, Dylan stepped outside the hospital to find John waving, standing by a cab, which soon whisked them downtown—well, perhaps whisked wasn't the correct word, considering the permanent traffic jam on the Eisenhower. Dylan considered the ride a supreme test of willpower, for sitting next to John and not making out was the hardest thing ever! Reluctantly settling for small talk laced with innuendo, he eventually found himself on the top floor of a swanky hotel, in a suite with a great view of the lake.  
  
There was barely time to appreciate it, however, for John pulled him away from the window to reveal another glorious sight: a sumptuous king sized bed and two tray tables overloaded with breakfast delicacies. “Wow!” Dylan exclaimed, kicking off his shoes so he could jump into bed. “You really meant breakfast.”  
  
John joined him, chuckling. “Well, breakfast and...desert,” he explained, expression impish.  
  
Dylan swam in the ice blue, but steaming hot gaze and hurriedly decided to tuck in before his hard-on knocked the tray table over.  
  
“I had them make everything ahead of time so we didn't have to bother with the iron ourselves,” John explained, lifting the main dish cover to reveal a huge Belgian waffle.  
  
Every kind of fixing they could want was on his table or John's, so Dylan created a strawberry mountain of doom, with hot fudge, pecans and so much whipped cream the concoction was entirely white. John's waffle was more sedate, with apples, raisins and cinnamon sugar. “No whipped cream?” Dylan gasped, outraged.  
  
“I don't do well with dairy,” John told him, eying Dylan's breakfast dubiously.  
  
“Bummers,” Dylan sympathized, thoroughly enjoying his creation.  
  
They fell into comfortable silence as they ate, and Dylan couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed with another person. It was easy to be with John. It never felt like he was tippy toeing around, always afraid he'd do something stupid, like he had with most of his other lovers. And since the few he had felt comfortable with had not returned the sentiment, the entire experience was new and exciting.  
  
Finally, Dylan's stomach began to protest. “If I eat anything more I'm gonna crash so hard there won't be anything you can do to wake me up,” he stated, falling back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh.  
  
John arched a brow, wolflight gleaming. “Is that a challenge?”  
  
Dylan's heart skipped a few beats, suddenly remembering his drunken proposal of yesterday evening. He wondered if John did too. Was he ready to get laid this morning? Asking such questions of himself turned his guts into a butterfly mosh pit, so he focused on the matter at hand. After clearing the bed of everything but themselves, there was nothing to do but grab the handsome face and kiss it to death, trusting the delicious activity would banish his fears as it usually did.  
  
It worked. John's lovemaking skills were as honed as ever, and Dylan was soon writhing and moaning at his talented hands and sinful mouth. He'd never realized how sensitive his nipples were until John's attention there sent sparks straight to his cock, causing his hips to jerk in a lewd bid for attention. Happy to oblige, John wandered lower and proceeded to administer an exquisitely delicate blowjob, clearly intended to arouse but not get him off. It was glorious but maddening.  
  
Dylan was about to start begging when John tipped his hips toward the ceiling, parted his cheeks and sent a lightning bolt straight from his ass to his brain. John had licked him there before, and he'd been equally entranced and revolted. But, _ohmygod_ , it felt so damn good, he tried to focus on that—how it melted his spine and made him hungry for more. When John raised his head and fingers teased where the tongue had been, he felt curiously excited rather than afraid about what was coming.  
  
The penetration felt strange at first, not painful but not particularly pleasurable either. But as John's fingers delved deeper, something magic started to happen in there. “What are you doing?” he asked, as the warmth grew and his hips embarrassingly began to undulate of their own accord.  
  
“This is your prostate,” John told him. “It's erectile tissue just like your cock, so if you give it nice pets it purrs. Good?”  
  
“Rrrraaawrrrr,” Dylan replied with a dreamy face, glorying in the newly-discovered sensations. The fingers teased something wicked, sending shockwaves throughout his nervous system, and he watched his body respond with abandon, ecstatic to feel so at ease and sexually free with this man. His fears about John taking him disappeared completely, replaced by a yearning so profound he was startled by its power. “Fuck me,” he whispered, determined to make it happen.  
  
John didn't seem in a mood to argue this time. His eyes raked him up and down with such appreciation Dylan was sure his blush started at his toes and covered his entire body. “My less than stellar dimensions shouldn't give you too much trouble,” he said with a wink. “I'm sorry I can't do for you what you can do for me.”  
  
Dylan thought John was going to be plenty big and said so, while his lover smiled indulgently. And, yes, perhaps it was a bit intense at first entering, but it soon turned into something wonderful. He was surprised by how moving it felt to be opened this way, to have John inside him and to hold him so intimately. The experience was completely different than when he was the one doing the penetrating, and he was becoming convinced it was better.  
  
He could feel the orgasm growing but it was happening way different than usual. Instead of starting at his dick and working its way in, it was blooming deep inside. And every time John rocked into him it set off sparks through his lower half, creating an itch that only more sensation would scratch. “Do it harder,” he demanded.  
  
“Ummm,” John purred, happy to comply.  
  
Dylan looked up at the magnificent body above him, golden, gleaming in sweat, and shuddered in ecstasy. He felt so possessed, so taken, the sense of belonging only added to the emotions sweeping through his heart. The orgasm was literally fulfilling, exploding from the core of his being and sending him heavenward. John whispered flattering endearments as he reached his own climax, and Dylan wrapped himself tightly around the powerful body, intending to never let go. “Thanks for showing me it could be like that,” he enthused ardently, hands full of the cushy cheeks he couldn't get enough of.  
  
“You were wonderful, sweet boy,” John told him, kissing his forehead before shifting position to lay alongside him. “We don't have to check out 'till three,” he continued, yawning. “I put in a wake up call for 2:30, so we can sleep all day.”  
  
Dylan was so wiped he didn't even try to form words, sighing in relief to learn they could collapse for a nice long while. He felt full, content and totally at peace, and fell asleep reveling in the maple scent of his delicious lover.  
  
He awoke before the phone rang, unsurprised to discover himself alone in the bed. Any possible concerns he might have felt were outweighed by the deliciously naughty languor permeating his body. Getting up to stretch, he was immediately reminded of where John had been earlier. Amazed by how much he enjoyed the intimate ache, he felt tender and vulnerable remembering what had happened. Needing to stay close, he grabbed his cell, called John's number and held his breath.  
  
“Dylan!” John answered, thankfully sounding glad to hear from him. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Nah, I'm just calling 'cause I'm a lovesick puppy.” He couldn't believe he admitted it out loud.  
  
“That makes two of us,” John told him. “Two puppies soon to be in the doghouse, I fear.”  
  
“Doghouse?” Dylan asked, too blissfully focused on the first part of John's statement to care much about his answer.  
  
“Well, you never know,” John replied. “We've flown under the radar so far. Lady Luck may still be with us. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.”  
  
“Are you working tonight?” came the nosy question.  
  
“Yes, I should be around,” John said. “Thank you for giving yourself to me with such passion, Dylan. It was most gratifying. A gift I'll always treasure.”  
  
“'S 'kay,” Dylan mumbled, the flattery causing his wits to vanish. “Well, I should let you go,” he ventured, lamely.  
  
“See you later,” John told him.  
  
Dylan headed home to shower and change, unsure why a certain gloom hovered over his heart despite having just experienced the hottest day of his life. He could think of no reason such a feeling should linger, but it hung around him all afternoon like the undeniable funk in the air when his favorite sweater needed washing.  
  
All his worries vanished, however, when he arrived at work that night to discover a single, long-stemmed red rose laying on his desk, and under it a note that said, _Always_.  
  
to be continued 


	12. Chapter 12

When John didn't show up for work, Dylan wasn't concerned. Doctor's lives were unpredictable, after all. The past few days had been so overwhelming, it was nice to have some time to be quiet and process things. He left what he hoped was an innocuous message before he crashed the next morning, saying, “Hey, I missed you last night. Stop by and say hi later,” sure that John would.  
  
As his shift wore on the next night and there was no sign of John, doubt began to rear its head. To distract himself, Dylan escaped to his old place of comfort, The Terminals' room. Taking a look around, he was shocked to discover that all the patients he'd known before he met John were gone. He'd been so wrapped up in himself, an entire new crop had arrived and he hadn't even read their charts, let alone gotten to know them. Chiding himself for slacking so selfishly, he pulled out _Master and Commander_ to see if Sally Ruth would like it as much as Mary had.  
  
The book proved impossible to read, however, since every time he got to the word Aubrey his heart would clench and threaten to sink him into despair. Sighing, he wandered back to his office and punched up the personnel database, hoping to find a hospital ID photo he could moon over. Strangely, there were two Aubreys on staff, but neither were John. Puzzled, Dylan pulled up the consultant's database, but no Aubreys were listed there either.  
  
Certain of a logical explanation, he phoned Diedra, his favorite night receptionist, and asked her to look John up. When she couldn't find the number, she told him that any doctor who belonged to another hospital's staff would have to be cleared through Security before they were issued an ID. Had he checked that database? He hadn't. Thanking her for the great idea, he excitedly began to snoop but came up empty handed yet again, as the doubts he had hoped to allay congealed into a sick foreboding.  
  
He called John again the next morning, if for no other reason than to listen to his voice on the outgoing message. Of course, there was no answer, nor did John phone that afternoon. Dylan didn't believe John had played him. He could not conceive that John had been insincere in his affections or lying about how much he cared, so he did not feel dumped, but he missed him something awful. Dylan's entire self felt like it was in withdrawal, aching for the addictive drug that was his delicious lover.  
  
The genuine worry didn't begin until another work shift came and went without John's presence. Even though it would seem pathetic to call again, he tried once more. But this time, instead of the beloved melodic tenor he heard an ominous robot voice instead: “The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.” Suddenly in a panic, he began to strategize, deciding he would visit John's place that afternoon despite how stalker-like it would seem.  
  
Thus he found himself standing in front of the little house once more, trying to ignore the willies that threatened to make him lose his lunch. Steeling his guts, he finally knocked on the door, heart soaring as he heard movement within. Unfortunately, the man who opened it was not John. A good three or four inches taller than himself with an Asian cast to his features, his fair skin seemed to be glowing against the dim hallway light. At first glance Dylan thought he wore a buzz cut, but soon realized his black hair was tied in a simple ponytail that reached to his waist.  
  
His beauty was so overwhelming Dylan's brain couldn't close his mouth, which apparently amused the man enough to smile and ask, “May I help you?”  
  
“Um,” Dylan stuttered, struggling to form words. “John?”  
  
“He's not here,” came the reply.  
  
Dylan's heart sank and he tried to leave, but could not move. There was something about the man that made Dylan's entire being tremble, and he felt on the verge of tears. Eying him helplessly for a few more seconds, he finally managed to mumble, “K,” and convince his feet to turn around and start walking.  
  
“Wait!” The commanding voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "So, it's you,” it continued. “You're the one."  
  
Dylan turned to face piercing scrutiny that made him feel so exposed and transparent he could literally feel his balls shrinking. “Me?” he squeaked, unable to look at the man without quailing.  
  
“Come inside,” came the demand. “I want to talk to you.”  
  
Dylan walked through the door before consciously willing it, and sat on the couch as though guided by a puppet master. The striking figure wore a charcoal gray suit, with tie and top shirt button loosened. He was thin like himself, but broader across the shoulders, with an exquisitely beautiful china doll face.  
  
The man paced back and forth across the living room for a full minute before he spoke again. “He's in big trouble, you know. And it's all your fault.”  
  
Dylan remembered John's talk about breaking the rules and felt a cold wash of dread and guilt. They got caught!  
  
“Aha! So it's true!” the man triumphed in response to his duress. “You've been _with_ him.”  
  
His eyes bored into Dylan's soul and he could do nothing but nod. The man heaved a great sigh and shook his head. A range of emotions flashed across his face—uncertainty, apprehension and finally resignation. “I've never understood that need,” he whispered.  
  
Suddenly there was commotion at the front door and Dylan's heart leapt to see John walk in, until he noticed the state he was in—face strained, hair unkempt, eyes red and puffy. “Dylan!” he cried, his expression full of wonder before he turned to scowl at Asian Guy.  
  
"John! What are you doing with this...person?" the man asked imperiously.  
  
John set his shoulders, chin raised in defiance. "What I do is no longer your concern."  
  
"It is when you make me a laughingstock," he retorted.  
  
John looked at Dylan and then back at the man with an arched brow. "Do you really want to discuss this now? Here?"  
  
The man growled, conceding John's point, but seemed ready to argue when there was further commotion at the front door. The dreadlocked, African-American man Dylan had seen at the hospital arrived, took one look at Asian Dude and barked, “Don't tell me you're involved in this as well.”  
  
“No! I'm just....”  
  
The imposing black man raised his hand, interrupting, and scrutinized Dylan in the same bone-chilling way the first man had. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked puzzled for many moments before addressing John. “We must go.” Glancing again at Dylan, he added, “You've got one minute.”  
  
He strode to the door, calling “Raphael!” when he reached it and the other man did not move to join him. Raphael gave John a rueful glance, picked up his suit coat and exited the house.  
  
Dylan grabbed his lover in a bear hug before he could resist. “Are you all right?” he asked, feeling freakishly over-protective. The familiar scent of the body in his arms brought with it a rush of emotion, and he was sure he could not willingly let go.  
  
“I'll be okay,” John whispered. “I truly thought we'd have more time. I'm so sorry, Dylan.”  
  
Gentle hands gathered him close, stroked his hair, and he could feel lips trailing along his neck, breathing him in. Dylan did the same, trying to memorize every last detail about the treasure he was losing.  
  
“John!” called a deep booming voice from outside.  
  
Reluctantly untangling himself from Dylan's arms, John took his hand. “Come,” he said quietly, pulling him along as he grabbed a small satchel sitting by the door. Dylan obediently followed him out, watching himself move as though he were starring some cheesy B movie.  
  
The leading man kissed the love interest's forehead, whispered, “Goodbye, dearheart,” then walked to the waiting limo without a backward glance and drove off, while the lover collapsed on the porch and wept.  
  
to be continued 


	13. Chapter 13

It was nothing like when Jessica left. Even though it had stung his ego to be rejected for another man, it was nice having his apartment all to himself again and even better being able to come and go as he pleased without answering to another person. He had missed her a little, but not enough to hurt, and he recovered from the break-up quickly. John, however, he missed terribly. And while he felt with certainty that his lover had not abandoned him, the hole his absence left in his heart ached worse than anything he'd felt since his mother died.  
  
He didn't know what to do with himself or how to assuage the pain. It was strange to feel so little and scared, like he had after the freak car accident turned him into an orphan. His life had gone from typically carefree to something more Dickens-like in just over a year, and John's leaving felt the same, as though he'd taken the light away when the limo spirited him off that horrible afternoon. Dylan hated being cast back into his childhood memories, but there was no escaping them.  
  
His mother had been a busy woman, working every day as a waitress at a popular diner, and Dylan remembered their little apartment fondly, only a block away from his grandparent's house. Yet, for all her hard work, mom always had time for him in the evenings. Just sixteen when he was born, she was more of a big sister or pal than the moms the other kids had. She was pretty and fun, better at playing dinosaur or superhero than any of his friends. While Dylan had spent many happy hours at grandma and grandpa's while his mom worked, his most treasured memories were always of the times when it was just the two of them, snuggled on the couch watching a movie or playing a video game together.  
  
The ominous bells didn't begin to toll until his seventh year, when his grandpa died suddenly in his sleep. He was strong like a bull and had not been sick so it was a shock to everyone, and Dylan remembered feeling helpless in the face of his mother and grandmother's grief. It made him angry that grandpa had left everyone so sad and there didn't seem to be anything he could do to make things better. Focused on helping his mom, he pushed his own sense of loss aside, and all the happy times he spent with his grandfather became something too painful to reminisce about.  
  
The year before he was orphaned was dark and miserable, for his mother struggled, attending to his basic needs but withdrawing emotionally. She still wore a smile, but Dylan could tell it was just a mask. The only good thing about it all, he decided, was that he'd had to get used to missing his mom long before she was taken away from him forever. His grandmother was never the same either, which is why Dylan was not allowed to stay with her when his mother died even though that had been both their wishes. The social workers brought hopelessness in their wake, deciding what was Best For All Concerned even though it had nothing to do with what he wanted or needed.  
  
The current situation was a chilling reminder of that horrible time, and the experience felt all the more infuriating because he had nowhere to direct his emotions. If he felt angry, it wasn't at John, but at the unknown strangers who had taken him away—their creepy dark suits reminding him of the Men in Black, or the Jehovah's Witnesses who plagued the neighborhood way too often.  
  
He could not understand what kind of trouble John was in. Why was it such a big deal they were together? Doctors screwed the nurses and staff all the time and, while it was frowned upon, it was rarely grounds for dismissal. And why couldn't he find John in any of the personnel databases? It was another mystery making the situation that much more frustrating.  
  
Work sank into the dead routine it had always been before he met John. Even The Terminals brought little comfort, seeming cold and distant when he visited with them. He remembered how freaked he'd been the first few times he'd found John in their room and tried to find his way back into the insulated space he'd been in then, but it was impossible. Every time he entered, the room seemed empty, smirking at his secret hope to find the vertical person he knew would not be there.  
  
After a week, it was too much. Feeling bored and lonely, he did something he hadn't been moved to do in over two years—call his Big Brother, Lewis. Thankfully, Lewis seemed happy to hear from him. “Dylan! Holy shit! It's been way too long. How the hell are ya?”  
  
Just hearing his voice made Dylan feel better. “I'm hanging, I guess,” he replied. “What's new?”  
  
“Well...me and Mary, we're separated,” he was told.  
  
Dylan's heart leapt. “No shit!” And then, catching himself, he added, “Wow, I'm sorry, man. What happened?”  
  
“Once Corey hit kindergarten, she got busy,” Lewis said. “Went back to school herself. I got tired of feeling like we were roommates and all her important friends were somewhere else.”  
  
“Are you getting divorced?” Dylan asked, guilty for feeling so hopeful.  
  
Lewis sighed. “I don't know. I want to be with her, but I don't think she feels the same. I walked out hoping she might miss me enough to come around, but it hasn't happened yet.” Dylan could almost hear the shrug. “Hey, it's weird you called today,” Lewis continued. “My boss gave me two tickets to the Cubbies game tomorrow afternoon. I was gonna try and lure Mary, but...shit. How about a game in the shade for once instead of frying with the Bleacher Bums?”  
  
The proposal made Dylan happier than he'd felt in way too long. “Sure!” he enthused. “That'd be great!”  
  
They made plans to meet at Halsted & Waveland tomorrow at noon and it felt like old times, as exciting as always to be contemplating a get-together with Lewis. The old crush was still present, it seemed, fueled by a childishly smug glee that his rival had proved Unworthy. While he knew Lewis would never love him carnally, he didn't care. That he might have his oldest and dearest friend all to himself again was thrilling news that couldn't have come at a better time, and he couldn't wait 'til tomorrow.  
  
Work didn't seem so awful when there was something to look forward to. It was interesting to compare the way he anticipated seeing Lewis tomorrow versus how he anticipated seeing John. Thinking about spending time with his lover always made his cock hard, his knees weak and brought a feverish flush to his skin, which was very exciting, but his feelings for Lewis ran deeper than that. Their friendship had been part of his very foundation, a lighthouse shining in the darkest part of his childhood, and the cherished memories buoyed him that night as he worked.  
  
Sleep brought Dylan another one of those strange lucid dreams. Only this time, when he flew toward the bright sun out in space he found his grandpa there in the light. Even though Dylan was his lanky adult self, his grandfather was as big as he remembered and he happily crawled into his lap as he was hugged by those strong arms once again.  
  
It was weird, though. Grandpa didn't smell like Captain Black's Cherry Pipe Tobacco, but of maple syrup, and Dylan's dream self wondered enough to ask, “Is it you grampa?”  
  
Dylan felt a gentle chuckle as he was snuggled closer. “I've missed you,” said a warm voice.  
  
“I've missed you too,” Dylan replied, reveling in the sense of belonging he felt in the loving embrace. “You smell like pancakes, grampa. Did you quit smoking?”  
  
There was another chuckle. “It must be the fenugreek in my tea,” came the reply.  
  
Dylan's dream self wondered at that—grandpa never drank tea—but when he felt a familiar kiss brush his forehead he knew.  
  
“John?!?” he gasped, startling enough that he woke to find a pillow in his arms. Sighing in defeat, he sat up, suddenly realizing that John's scent was all around him, on his hands, his T-shirt. Amazed, heart soaring, he sprinted to the computer to Google the word, _fenugreek_.  
  
to be continued

 


	14. Chapter 14

Dylan was sure fenugreek was a dream thing, a nonsense word that didn't exist outside of his warped brain. So when Google found it (despite the fact that he'd spelled it wrong) he was floored. Frantically skimming the Wiki listing, he saw that in Egypt, it was prepared in tea, and further down he read, _in the United States where maple syrup is popular but expensive, fenugreek is widely used in lower-cost syrup products as a maple syrup flavoring._  
  
He couldn't believe it!  
  
Heart pounding, mind racing, Dylan tried to understand what had just happened. The dream seemed so sweet, so real, he could still feel the strength of grandpa's arms and the warm affection of his embrace. But it was John's beloved scent that hovered around him even now, and his body was responding as though it knew something he didn't. Had John actually visited? Unable to make that leap, he decided his desperate longing had produced the amazing experience, and felt grateful to be reconnected to both his grandfather and his lover.  
  
The wonderful feeling carried him through the morning, and he took a leisurely stroll over to Wrigley Field, stopping at a favorite diner along the way to have breakfast. It was great to sit in the real seats and the Cubs even won the game, but Dylan walked away from the experience disappointed. It didn't help that the first thing out of Lewis' mouth was, “Dude! What's with the hair? It looks like you stuck your finger in a socket.”  
  
“It's good to see you too,” came Dylan's rueful reply, and it was downhill from there.  
  
Lewis looked about the same, although he seemed a lot less impressive than Dylan remembered. At first he chalked it up to growing another inch or two since they last met. But as the innings ticked by, Dylan began to realize that he'd not only grown up but beyond his old friend. It had been over two years since they last spoke, but he couldn't think of what to say to the guy, which felt really awkward. John was the only thing on his mind anyway, and he sure as hell wasn't going to open up to Lewis about all that.  
  
Lewis seemed nonplussed, chundering on about various boring nothings, and the sad reality began to dawn in Dylan's mind that the crush he'd had on his Big Brother no longer existed. His affection was firmly attached to another, and hanging with Lewis only brought that truth into sharp focus. It was double depressing to be missing John so much while trying to laugh at the jokes of his inadequate substitute. When Lewis asked him out to dinner after the game, he begged off and ran home to nurse his paining heart instead.  
  
Dylan almost blew off work that night, feeling sorry enough for himself that tequila-ing his brain into oblivion seemed like the most desirable plan. In the end, however, he decided that burying his head in coding would do a better job of drumming the loneliness out of his system than booze. He knew if he got drunk he'd just crawl into his naval and turn into a miserable, self-absorbed mess.  
  
So it was with a certain amount of pride that he dumped his bookbag on his desk and headed over to The Terminals' room for his routine check in. But as he walked to the door, the sound of laughter inside brought him up short. Stopping to listen, he heard a lady's voice say, “You still haven't told us what you're doing here, Minty.”  
  
An older woman replied, “It's my jurisdiction, after all.” There was a brief pause and then, “Well, alright. He's been an asset for a long time and we don't want to lose him now. Everyone's dying of curiosity, Abe's too recognizable, so here I be.”  
  
There was further chuckling and then, “What do you think we should do?” Surprisingly, the voice sounded like Sid, the man from India who had visited John the time they'd made love at his house. Realizing the people inside were John's friends, Dylan began to feel a little breathless.  
  
“I don't know,” said the younger woman. “I just feel terrible for him, and I'm curious too, I'll admit.”  
  
“What could have happened?” asked the older lady. “Is Rafe behind this?”  
  
“No, he's worried as well,” the younger woman replied. “They were so unsuited. I believe he made his peace with that long ago.”  
  
“Passion versus intellect,” mused Sid, “ever at war.”  
  
“Opposites can attract,” noted Older Lady. “They're happier apart.”  
  
“It's true,” agreed the lovely younger voice. “But I've never seen The Beloved so despondent and I cannot bear it. We must do something.”  
  
“What can we do?” asked Sid.  
  
“We snoop,” the older woman decided firmly. “I believe this is where they met, so....”  
  
Unable to bear the mysterious conversation any longer, Dylan burst into the room, stunned to find only one person there. Quickly scanning the beds, he decided the handsome, sixtysomething African American doctor could not have been conversing with any of The Terminals.  
  
“My word!” she gasped, hand over her heart. “You surprised me. Are you family?”  
  
Feeling very confused and weirded out by the _deja vu_ conversation, he replied, “No. I work here.”  
  
Her gaze became intense. “You do? What's your name, child?”  
  
“Dylan, ma'am,” he replied, unsure why the honorific popped out. Dying of curiosity himself, he had to know. “Are you John's replacement?”  
  
Her eyes widened but she didn't respond right away. Dylan could barely contain his excitement, for he felt with all his heart that this woman knew something and wanted to help him. Finally, she smiled. “Why, yes I am. For the time being anyway.”  
  
Dylan felt almost giddy, the relief was so great. “Where is he?” he asked. “Is he all right?”  
  
Her expression was kind. “You've very worried about him, aren't you?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Dylan informed her passionately. “That Rafe guy said he was in trouble.”  
  
Her eyebrows shot up. “You've met Rafael?!?”  
  
Dylan nodded impatiently, not wanting to lose the thread of the conversation. “What's the big deal? Why should it matter who a doctor dates around here?”  
  
“Because, young man....” She paused, eying him critically.  
  
Dylan froze, holding his breath, praying to all the saints in heaven she'd finish her sentence.  
  
Finally, she got all twinkly like his grandma used to when she'd sneak him a few cookies behind his mom's back. “You see,” she continued warmly, “John is not a doctor.”  
  
to be continued 


	15. Chapter 15

“Okay, so you're undercover cops or something,” Dylan replied, not particularly surprised at the news, considering his inability to find John in any of the staff databases. “But why is he in trouble? I don't get it. We didn't do anything wrong.”  
  
“I understand how frustrating it must be,” she began, “but I'm not sure how much I can tell you.”  
  
Frustrating didn't even begin to describe it! Feeling grumpy and defiant at her evasiveness, he groused, “You know, I've never liked mysteries. I always read the ending first.”  
  
She harrumphed, hands on hips. “Didn't you say you worked here, young man?”  
  
Guts quailing, he stammered, “Oh, uh...yeah,” fearing he'd just blown his chances with his cocky attitude.  
  
“Well, why don't you get to it?” she demanded, wagging her finger.  
  
Dylan cringed. Who cared about work when such amazing events were afoot? Stuck in place, he opened and closed his mouth a few times but didn't know how to respond, unwilling to believe he'd been wrong about her wanting to help.  
  
Her gaze softened at his distress. Glancing at her watch, she said, “I'll be taking a break at 2:30. How 'bout we meet at the cafeteria then? I didn't expect to find you so quickly and must hobnob with my fellows before we speak further.”  
  
With a huge sigh of relief, Dylan happily agreed, gushing, “Thanks so much...uh....” He trailed off, not wanting to reveal how long he'd been listening at the door.  
  
“Minty,” she told him. “You may call me Minty.”  
  
Hearing her say the name he'd picked up eavsdropping made him feel a little more sane and a lot less crazy. He still couldn't figure out who she'd been talking to, but that mystery could keep for a few more hours. Sprinting to the door, he turned, flashing what he hoped was his best smile. “It's a date, Ms. Minty. Later.”  
  
He saw her blink and maybe even smile before he made his escape across the hall, locking the door behind him so he could jump around like a madman. Thankfully, the payroll upgrade was enough of a bear to code that it absorbed most of the three hours he had to kill before he could go meet Minty. The hope that somehow, some way, he might get to see John again fueled his concentration and he nailed the sucker with a half hour to spare.  
  
Sure she wouldn't stand him up, Dylan was nevertheless relieved to find Minty in the cafeteria, and equally grateful the place was almost empty that early in the morning. However, she had two companions, and he needed to stand there gawking awhile before he felt ready to approach them.  
  
The man had to be Sid. Thirty or fortysomething of Indian descent, his face was handsome, with wavy dark hair that reached to his shoulders. He wore Friday casual khakis with a faded blue shirt and was of average height and build, several inches shorter than Dylan. Alone, he would have turned heads, but the woman he was with was so beautiful, Dylan could see only her.  
  
She was as tall and lean as a model, with long dark brown hair pinned back at the sides but left to flow behind. Her ethnicity was impossible to place, maybe Indian or Polynesian, but her look was exotic, with an easy smile that Dylan immediately fell in love with. Wearing a fashionably feminine suit in an icy, jewel-like lavender tone, she didn't seem as intimidating as the other mysterious Beautiful People he'd seen with John.  
  
Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, Dylan walked toward the group, and they turned to him with welcoming faces. “Ah! Here he is,” Minty cried. “Everyone, this is Dylan.”  
  
The man extended his hand and Dylan shook it. “Sid,” he announced. “Nice to finally meet you.”  
  
Dylan's face was steaming, and not just because he'd been snug in John's bed when Sid first learned of his existence. Standing so near to the beautiful lady was giving him the heebie jeebies, almost as though she were radiating some kind of electric current that made his skin prickle and the hair on his body (and something else) stand on end.  
  
“This is Gabriel,” Sid told him. He gestured in her direction and Dylan finally mustered the wherewithal to look up into her face, amazed she had to have at least three or four inches on him.  
  
“Hello,” she said, her smile genuine. “You must be full of questions for us.”  
  
“'Lo,” he mumbled, swimming in the warmth of her sparkling, golden brown eyes. If an uncomfortable silence passed, he wasn't aware of it, but finally something tugged at his hand.  
  
“Well come and sit down, Dylan,” Minty admonished, pulling him toward a chair. “And close your mouth while you're at it.”  
  
They gathered around a table, chuckling, then gazed at him expectantly. Frantic, he felt unnerved enough to blurt, “Who _are_ you people?”  
  
“We're John's friends,” Sid said. “And we're trying to understand what happened in hopes of remedying the sticky situation he finds himself in.”  
  
Thinking of John suffering because of him brought the wash of sick guilt it always did. Sensing his discomfort, Minty leaned forward. “What is it you want here, Dylan?”  
  
 _I want his hands on my body, his tongue in my mouth, his cock up my ass...._ Dylan could feel his face getting hot again and tried to think clearly. What could he say in polite company? “I need to see him,” he decided. “What can I do to help?”  
  
“We're trying to figure that out,” Sid informed him. “Thus our fact finding mission.”  
  
“Did John pursue you?” Gabriel asked, causing Dylan to become instantly wary despite her gentle expression.  
  
“No way,” he told her truthfully. “He tried to shove me aside more than once, but I wasn't having it.” They all seemed to breathe a little easier at that, and Dylan was relieved too, deciding he'd keep the wolflit glances and innuendo-filled conversations to himself.  
  
“I've wondered how you met,” Sid mused.  
  
“We kept bumping into each other in the terminal patients' room," Dylan admitted.  
  
“You're not a doctor,” Gabriel correctly noted. “What were you doing in there?”  
  
Dylan shrugged. “I like to visit with them on my breaks. I'm usually the only one in the office on the night shift and they're good company, I guess.”  
  
She smiled. “I see.”  
  
Dylan watched them exchange meaningful glances and hoped that was a good sign. Unable to contain himself any further, he exclaimed, “Look, can't you tell me what's going on here? I'm good. I won't tell anyone. I don't have any friends to tell, anyway.”  
  
They appeared sympathetic, but Sid said, “You'll have to be patient a little longer, I'm afraid. Would you consider sharing your phone number? I'd like to have a way of getting in touch if there is any further news, and perhaps we could go out for a beer or something while I'm still in town.”  
  
“That'd be great!” Dylan enthused. He noticed that Sid didn't offer his own number in return, but he wasn't going to push his luck and ask for it.  
  
“We should let you get back to work, Dylan,” Gabriel stated. “It's been so nice to meet you.”  
  
She stood up while Minty and Sid did the same. It was obviously brushoff time and Dylan's heart sank. Their visit raised more questions than it answered, but his brain was in the mire and unable to work out what he wanted to know. Waiting together at the elevator bank—they were going in opposite directions—Dylan could think of nothing to say that might keep them around a little longer.  
  
The up elevator dinged and Sid jumped. “Ooops, I almost forgot,” he said, looking sheepish. “This is for you.” He pulled a small envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Dylan. Seeing his name on the front written in John's familiar, old-fashioned script made him feel feverish and faint.  
  
Suddenly anxious to escape, he lept into the elevator crying, “Wow! Thanks!” and didn't even wait until the doors closed to rip the missive open.  
  
to be continued


	16. Chapter 16

Standing in the elevator, reading frantically, Dylan let his floor come and go and didn't even realize it. The note said

>   
> _Dearest Dylan,_
> 
> _If you're reading this letter it must mean that Sid has found you, and we're one tiny step closer to seeing each other again. I miss you very much, and feel awful when I think of how confused you must be. I would prefer to be more forthright about my situation, but fear you would find the truth hard to accept and come away even more confused than you are now._
> 
> _It was selfish of me to become involved, but I fell in love with your compassionate heart, your wry sense of humor and self-effacing ways. You are beautiful inside and out, my Dylan, and I am smitten. Please know that I am trying to find my way back to you, but the obstacles remain great. My days are lonely, but I console myself with this letter, caressing these words instead of you, dreaming that you will one day read them._
> 
> _I trust Sid implicitly and you may too. Anyone else he introduces to you can be considered a friend as well. We are working toward a reunion, if however brief. I owe you an explanation, but in my arms, not in writing. I pray you don't hate me for what I have done and will choose to see me once again._
> 
> _And now that I have said everything I wanted to say, I feel honor-bound to include the rest. My situation is such that our long term prospects remain nil. There can be no house with a white picket fence for us, growing old together, side by side on the porch swing. In all good conscience I cannot ask you to forego all the wonderful things that life has to offer a young man. If you tell Sid that you've decided a reunion cannot be, I will understand completely._
> 
> _I'm sure you know my preference in the matter, and will continue to hope that my intrepid liaison brings me good news._
> 
> _With deepest affection,_
> 
> _John_
> 
>  

Dylan was stunned. Having no idea how he got to his desk, he sat there for a long time, re-reading the blessed words. The last paragraph barely registered, so focused was he on _I fell in love with..._ and _We are working toward a reunion..._ Absolutely no work was accomplished, for he could not tear his eyes away from small piece of paper with the beautiful handwriting and how ecstatic it made him feel.

The next few nights he dashed into work full of excitement, propping his office door open with a chair and watching The Terminals' room like a hawk in hopes of bumping into Minty again. Unfortunately, if she was around he didn't catch her, and he soon began to lose hope.

Finally, it arrived in the form of _Ode to Joy_ on his cell, dragging him bleary-eyed out of bed one gray afternoon a few days later. Not recognizing the initials S.G. on the ID, he was ready to ignore the call, but suddenly realized it might be Sid and scrambled for the On button. All was confirmed when he heard the familiar accent. “Dylan! It's Sid. Do you have time this afternoon?”

He did, and he was hungry too. “Wanna go somewhere to eat?” he asked in reply.

“Sure,” Sid agreed. “Let me be Mister Nosy Nose and invite myself over. Then we can go somewhere in your neighborhood, alright?”

Dylan tried to remember the state of his living room and decided it wouldn't take too long to straighten up. “Uh, okay,” he agreed. If Sid wanted to stop by for some reason, he wasn't going to say no. He got the place ready then snooped out the front window, curious whether his visitor would arrive in a cab or a limo—it was a cab—and invited the dapper man in. He was wearing jeans today, with a simple shirt and the kind of grandpa sweater Dylan preferred himself.

“What a beautiful apartment!” Sid exclaimed. “And such a lovely neighborhood too. I never understood why John wanted to live in that awful little house so close to the hospital.”

“Thanks,” Dylan replied. Agreeing with Sid's opinion of John's place made him instantly likable, but he felt he should defend his lover anyway. “Commuting is a pain. Maybe he didn't want to deal with it.”

Sid smiled at him in the funniest way, making Dylan feel like he was a puppy who had just performed a cute trick, even though he had no idea what it was. “Yes. Well, I believe you said you were hungry,” he said, suddenly matter-of-fact. “The business district at the end of the block seemed pretty bustling. Is it worth checking out?”

It was, so they strolled down the street past the Chinese take out, the Mexican taqueria and the fancy white tablecloth place that wasn't open yet. Finally they came to the beer and burger joint. “How about here?” Sid asked. “Do you know if it's any good?”

“It's decent,” Dylan told him. It was a little expensive for what you got, but the beef was above-average, and there was always free popcorn on the table. “Let's do it!”

They didn't have to wait in the middle of the afternoon and Dylan was happily amazed at how comfortable he felt with the older man. He'd been worried after the call, unsure of what they'd have to talk about, but Sid was so easygoing he stopped being uptight.

“I thought all folks from India were vegetarian,” he noted, curious at Sid's choice of a 1/3 pounder and a Guinness.

“Oh, I was, for a very long time,” Sid admitted. “And when I'm at home I eat that way because that's what tends to be prepared. But when I visit a city like Chicago, I'm all for the decadence..stuffed pizza, steak and such.” He chomped into his burger with enthusiasm, sharing a conspiratorial glance that made Dylan grin.

Their conversation was full of the typical pleasantries until it moved in a fateful direction. “Did you grow up in Chicago, Dylan?” Sid asked.

“Yeah, on the south side,” he was told.

“It must be nice to be so close to your family.”

Dylan shrugged. “Only my uncles are left. They're okay, I guess, but I don't get down to see them too often.”

Sid looked sympathetic. “John said you were orphaned quite young. I'm so sorry.” Dylan sighed inwardly. He always hated talking about all that. He braced himself for more, but Sid did not offer the usual inanities. Instead, the next thing out of his mouth was a bit of a shock. “Gabriel says you remind her of someone. What can you tell me of your father?”

“Nothing,” Dylan told him honestly, assuming Gabriel was thinking of Johnny Depp like everyone else. “My mom was young. I guess it was a one night stand kind of thing because he was never around. No one ever talked about him and I was too young to ask any penetrating questions about it.”

“I see,” came the reply. “And you've never been curious enough to talk to your uncles?”

“Nope,” Dylan admitted, suddenly wondering why he hadn't.

“It might be a fruitful discussion,” Sid noted.

Dylan definitely agreed, but the whole conversation was freaking him out, so he changed the subject to his current obsession. “Thanks for playing go-between for us,” he said sincerely. “That letter is the best thing that's happened to me since...well, you know.”

“I'm glad to help,” Sid replied. “I take it he didn't manage to chase you off.”

“No way!” he blurted. Gazing into the fond expression, Dylan felt he could say anything. “Tell me about John.”

Sid chuckled. “Something good or bad?”

Surprised at the choice, Dylan had to think for a moment. “Bad,” he decided.

Nodding in appreciation, Sid said, “I've known John for a very long time and feel privileged to call him a friend. But I must confess he has one great flaw: an apparent addiction to romantic tragedy. Some souls seem to be more interested in yearning for love than attaining it, and that has certainly been John's pattern.

“Let me tell you a few secrets about my friend,” he continued. “The one who owned John's heart first (and may still own it, if I'm to be honest) cares for him dearly—perhaps even above all others—but not like that, if you know what I mean.”

Dylan nodded, his heart wrenching in sympathy, suddenly faced with how little he really knew about his lover. After spending his youth carrying a torch for Lewis, he knew full well what it was like to moon over someone who did not desire you they way you desired them.

“John's second love also cares deeply, and tried very hard to be the kind of partner John needed,” Sid added.

“Are you talking about Raphael?” Dylan asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Rafe is brilliant, great company and an excellent conversationalist who knows a little something about everything. They got along well, all things considered, and were together a long while. But, in the end, Rafe is a creature of the mind and our John is ruled by his heart. Raphael simply cannot love John, or anyone possibly, the way John wants to be loved.” He leaned forward and gave Dylan a meaningful glance. “The way you love him.”

Dylan blushed to his ears, even though he could tell Sid wasn't talking just about the sex. “I do love him,” he declared passionately, realizing it for the first time.

“Yes, I can see that,” Sid replied. “And he, you. But therein lies our concern, you see. For you are yet one more unattainable goal he's set his sights on.”

“But I'm not unattainable!” Dylan complained, feeling frustrated. “I don't get it.”

He could tell from Sid's pained expression that there would be no useful information forthcoming. “It's hard to explain,” he apologized.

“John wrote in his letter that there's no way we can be together,” Dylan admitted quietly. “That there's no future for us. Is it true?”

Sid sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “On the surface of things, I suppose it is,” he said. “But you never know. As I mentioned before, John has always been a bit of a...how would you say...drama queen. Despite his guilt-ridden warning, he wants to see you as badly as you want to see him, and we're trying to find a way to accomplish that.”

Dylan's heart lept. “You mean, it might actually happen?” John had said something along those lines in his letter but needed to know for sure.

“Yes,” Sid assured him, smiling warmly. “Whether a future for the two of you exists cannot be predicted. My advice would be to live for what you have now, and not let today's decisions be clouded by worries of what unknowns may come.”

Dylan had already decided that himself, but hearing this man he respected say it out loud suddenly made it seem more reasonable than the rose colored dream he'd considered it before. It was such a relief, Dylan laughed. “You're right,” he exulted. “Thanks!”

He hung with Sid on Ashland until he caught a cab, then headed toward home, feeling happier than he had in a very long time. With the entire evening to kill before work, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Marching to the local video store, he grabbed their only copy of _The Princess Bride_ , his imagination already aswim in blissful memories.

Passing by the small market that lived on the corner, he was suddenly struck by a lewd inspiration, but knew he had nothing at home suitably John-like for the task. Blushing furiously, he entered the establishment clutching the DVD to his chest like a shield. Wandering casually over to the produce section, he eyed the stuff that grew long and thin in hopes of choosing the most perfect sword.

to be continued


	17. Chapter 17

Dylan ended up with a whole salad worth of veggies because he was sure the checkout lady would think him a perv if he bought only a cucumber. Throwing everything but that into the fridge, he popped _The Princess Bride_ into the player and kicked back on the couch to watch.  
  
He was surprised by how little of the movie he'd seen, realizing he'd been paying far more attention to the beautiful man sitting next to him than the adventure on the screen. Watching alone proved similarly difficult, for his memories of that rose gold afternoon proved far more alluring than the film. _This is where we started making out_ , he thought, closing his eyes and blissfully reliving the experience in his imagination.  
  
He loved the way John kissed, always beginning the same way, with a few chaste pecks, gently sucking Dylan's lower lip in between his own before offering the tip of his tongue. Dylan would latch on greedily, sucking it into his mouth to shudder at the sensuous way it would tease his own, and the quiet contented sounds John made sparked hot desire that only one undertaking would quench.  
  
Eyes still closed, Dylan trailed a finger along his neck and collarbone, recalling how John's nibbling habits always sent goosebumps cascading. His body jerked at the shocking sensation as he reached under his shirt and grazed a nipple. Gently flicking a hardening nub, he whimpered, the erotic response still as surprising as the first time John attacked him there.  
  
Remembering another, more intimate caress, Dylan loosened his jeans and dove inside. He reached behind his balls, ignoring his usual destination, to tentatively explore the strange new world John had revealed to him. So sensitive was the opening, he lurched even at his own touch, shivering in pleasure at the delightful commotion it caused his nervous system.  
  
Feeling brave and hungry for more, he grabbed the cucumber, suddenly realizing he owned no official lubrication. Eyes casting about the room, the butter dish on the coffee table from dinner last night provided a solution. Greasing up one end, he slid the toy home, moaning out loud at the penetration.  
  
“ _Ohhh, my Dylan, thank you. Thank you so much!”_  
  
Dylan had forgotten John's trembling embrace, how he'd almost chanted the words as he gently pushed himself deeper. The sweet sense of possession was overwhelming him again. He could imagine John snuggled behind, setting his lower half aflame with every sensuous thrust, whispering the endearments that melted his heart.  
  
“ _This means so much, you can't know. Sweet, sweet boy. Thank you, my love, thank you.”_  
  
Swept away, Dylan could almost feel John's breath in his hair, the warmth of his body curled around him accompanying the sinful attention to his cock. “Wait,” he murmured, not wanting to release so fast. “It's too soon.” But no one was listening and he found it impossible to slow down or draw matters out any further.  
  
“Come for me, Dylan,” a lusty voice commanded, and he did just that, riding the blissful sensations skyward before falling into oblivion.  
  
Beethoven entered his awareness and he sat up, startled awake, jeans still around his ankles. Groggily fishing for his cell, he answered even though the ID said “Private Caller” because he was too stupid not to. But there was no one on the other end, and he scratched his head in confusion before spying the clock on the cable box.  
  
“Shit!” he cried, jumping up. It was 10pm! How had he slept so long? If he didn't move his ass, he would miss the bus and have to buy a cab to the hospital. _Good thing the phone rang_ , he thought as he stumbled into the shower.  
  
He was fifteen minutes late to work, but thankfully there was no one around to notice or care. Dumping his stuff on his desk, he headed over to The Terminals' room, still blissed out from lunch with Sid and his erotic adventure after. The space seemed unearthly quiet, constraining the heart that felt too big to for his chest, so he began to sing,  
  
“I gotta feeling  
That tonight's gonna be a good night  
That tonight's gonna be a good night  
That tonight's gonna be a good, good night....”  
  
Dancing around the beds, the uplifting vibes of the song buoyed his enthusiasm. He couldn't remember all the words, but it didn't matter. In the presence of such an accepting audience, he could push past his reserved nature and emote to his heart's content, grateful to feel so joyous.  
  
“Shhhhh!”  
  
Dylan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He turned to find Miguel, who had been comatose since a car accident over a month ago, watching him with lucid eyes. “Too noisy,” he rasped, as Dylan picked his jaw off the floor.  
  
“Mr. Delgado. Holy shit!” Dylan cried, unsure what to do. “Lemmie get somebody.” He dashed out of the room to the nurses' station. “I was walking by and I heard something,” he lied, deciding it was better not to admit how he spent time with The Terminals. “One of the patients is awake!”  
  
The news caused a flurry of activity and Dylan followed them all back to the room to watch from the sidelines. Miguel was indeed out of his coma, but remembered little of anything, it appeared. Dylan gleaned from the nurses' conversation that the only family he had left was a grandson who lived in California who had not come to fetch his grandpa after the accident.  
  
Everyone was dumbfounded but pleased, and Dylan decided to get back to work as the nurses bustled about, murmuring, “What a night!” and, “It's a miracle!” to each other.  
  
Exiting the room brought another surprise, for there was a familiar face in the hall waiting for him. “Ms. Minty!" he gasped, heart beating faster. "Hey, isn't it something? Mr. Delgado is out of his coma.”  
  
She looked as surprised as the other nurses. “Miguel Delgado?!?” she asked, frowning. “But I.... Hmmm.” Suddenly one eyebrow arched and she gave him a piercing glance. “What have you been up to, young man?”  
  
There was no lying to this woman. “I didn't do anything, honest,” he said, confused. “I was feeling good so I was singing, that's all. The next thing I know, he's shushing me and I almost shit my pants.” He cringed, hand flying to his mouth. “Ooops, sorry.”  
  
Thankfully, Minty didn't seem mad. In fact, she got positively twinkly. “You were singing?”  
  
Dylan shrugged. “Not well,” he told her.  
  
“Very interesting,” she said, wearing the same kind of you're-the-cutest-puppy look Sid had shown him earlier that afternoon. It pleased him in the exact same way as well, even though he had no idea what he was doing right. “Well,” she continued in conspiratorial tones, “I have news for you. Can you meet John for breakfast the day after tomorrow?”  
  
All the blood in his head rushed to his groin and he felt dizzy. “B-Breakfast?” he stammered, mortified to be saying such a thing to this stately, older woman when it seemed so lewd in his mind.  
  
“Is there a problem?” she asked, grinning like she totally knew what happened to him when he heard the words breakfast and John in the same sentence.  
  
He shook his head, praying that the crotch of his jeans wasn't pulsing too noticeably. “No ma'am.”  
  
Clearly sensing his inability to focus, she explained, “We'll send a car for you after your shift gets off at seven. It will be out front. All right? Boy, that smile of yours is as golden as a dream come true.”  
  
Breathless, feeling the need to leap about, all he could manage was, “Yes, ma'am.”  
  
“And here's a little something from me,” she added, handing him a Walgreen's bag, twinkling like grandma again.  
  
The tiny eyeglass repair kit caused huge consternation. He pulled off his glasses in dread, only to find the nightmare real. He'd been seeing John all this time with a staple holding one side of his frames together. Damn! Facing Minty helplessly, he sighed, “Wow, thanks. I forgot.”  
  
“You won't forget about breakfast?” she asked, teasing.  
  
“No, ma'am.”  
  
“See you later, then.” She patted his shoulder in a motherly fashion and turned to head down the hall.  
  
Falling into his office, Dylan dumped the contents of the kit on his desk, deciding he'd fix his glasses first thing, trembling hands or no.  
  
to be continued

 


	18. Chapter 18

Dylan could remember nothing of the time between Minty's announcement and his sprint from the elevator, frantically scanning the lobby of the hospital for a familiar face thirty-six hours later. Stepping outside, he was ready to believe it was all a dream when he spied a dude next to a limo holding a sign that said WOZNIAK. Jaw dropping to the sidewalk, _ohmygod it's really happening,_ he had to breathe a few seconds to calm himself before approaching.  
  
“That's me,” he told the driver and the man nodded, opening the door for him.  
  
“This way, sir,” he said. “M'lady is waiting.”  
  
 _M'lady?_ Dylan wondered, but said nothing. He was content to watch the city fly by the window and indulge his curiosity about where the meeting would take place. Finally the car stopped in front of a large house buried in one of the posh neighborhoods near Oak Street Beach.  
  
The driver opened his door and also the iron gate in front of the property. “Go ahead, sir. They're expecting you.”  
  
When Gabriel answered the bell, it was almost too much reality to handle. “H-Hi,” he managed, still totally unnerved by her physical presence.  
  
“Hello Dylan.” She smiled, motioning him inside. “Come along. I'm not sure how much time we have.”  
  
He followed her in a trance, barely noticing the spacious front hall and its stately appointments as they headed up a spiral staircase to the second floor. She smelled like a garden on a hot summer's day, when so many flowers are in bloom you can't identify one single aroma. The icy sea green hue of her suit glowed in the dim light, and Dylan had to force his eyes away from the graceful movement of her hips as they climbed, lest he think himself totally depraved.  
  
Finally upstairs, she guided him into a small suite full of mahogany furniture, including a loveseat with Sid upon it, who jumped up, exclaiming, “Here you are! Hello!” But Dylan barely had a chance to shake his hand when he heard movement and a catch of breath behind him. He turned and there was John, looking like that dream come true Minty had talked about.  
  
Dylan ran to him, knees weakening as the familiar arms gathered him close, enveloping him in the scent of his beloved. “It's really you,” he whispered into John's neck.  
  
“Ah, Dylan, Dylan,” came the impassioned reply, squeezing him tightly. “I'm so glad you're here.” The hug could have continued for another hour as far as Dylan was concerned, but eventually John loosened his hold just enough to pull him through the doorway. Catching John's grateful nod at their benefactors before he closed the door, Dylan discovered they were in the bedroom of the suite and could contain himself no longer.  
  
“C'mere,” he demanded, pulling the handsome face into a kiss. John obliged him with a quiet growl and they stood together getting blissfully reacquainted. It felt like coming home, so delicious Dylan succumbed immediately, his erection uncomfortable in his jeans as their hips fondly remembered previous dances.  
  
When the body in his arms began trembling, Dylan broke the embrace, backing away enough to gauge his lover's mood. John was misty-eyed, tears threatening, which sparked a brief panic. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”  
  
John chuckled, bumping foreheads. “Silly boy, everything is right,” he said. “I was so afraid I'd never see you again.”  
  
Struck dumb by the tender emotion in John's eyes, Dylan could do nothing but kiss him again. It was softer this time, less insistent and more lingering, as though the reality of the situation was just beginning to dawn on them. All the lonely days and nights were banished in an explosion of awareness. _It's really him!_  
  
Dylan felt ecstatic, grateful, needing to sing his lover's praises but finding his brain malfunctioning as usual. Suddenly struck by an inspiration, he realized there was one gift he could give that would say everything he longed to express without all those pesky words. Sinking to his knees, he grabbed John's belt buckle as the man gasped, backing into the wall.  
  
“Dylan, no!” he cried. “We can't.”  
  
“Why not?” Dylan asked, gleefully noticing how John's protest did not include any attempt to actually stop him from unzipping his jeans.  
  
“They'll hear.”  
  
“Be quiet, then.”  
  
“No, you don't understand. They'll hear no mater what.”  
  
“Who cares? They know what we're about, right?” The more John resisted, the more important it became to accomplish the task. Undaunted by the fact that he had zero experience, Dylan yanked the sedate navy boxers down enough to expose a partly-erect prize and pounced.  
  
John's strangled moans as Dylan explored assured him that, while still a novice, what his technique lacked in skill it more than made up for in enthusiasm. He had forgotten the heady effect of John's most private scent, how it could make his heart do flip flops sniffing it on his hands hours after they were parted. It was acting like a drug now, and he was aware of nothing but the twitching, alive thing in his mouth and the sweet song of its owner.  
  
When he finally raised his head, triumphant he had swallowed, he was amazed to find John horizontal on the floor. _How did that happen?_ Still biting his index finger and not managing to be very quiet at all, his lover was the most delicious sight Dylan had ever seen. Struck by a second inspiration, he dropped his own pants, spit into his hand and slicked up his aching self.  
  
Pushing John's knees to his chest he thrust home as, eyes wide, his lover gulped but did not challenge him. It didn't take long because it was all too much. Watching the beautiful man beneath him arch, writhe and claw the carpet, hearing his muted, “Unf,” every time he thrust, fueled an inferno within Dylan that went nuclear in no time at all.  
  
He could hear John whispering, “Okay, okay....” as his brain turned back on, finding himself flopped on the jeans still wrapped around his lover's knees.  
  
Guiltily wondering if he'd gone too far, he peeked into John's face to discover an impish glance and an arched brow. “Feeling a little angry after all, I see,” he noted. “Not that I blame you.”  
  
“I'm not angry,” Dylan protested, truly not realizing he was until John said so.  
  
John smiled knowingly as he stood, hitching his pants in the process, and sat on the bed, motioning Dylan to join him. “Come snuggle,” he said. “I'm not ready to let go of you yet.”  
  
Dylan happily joined him, entwining their legs together and laying his head on the broad chest so he could listen to John's heartbeat. For many long minutes they were quiet, breathing together. Even the hands that rarely ceased their seeking and exploring were finally still. _This is all I want. This is all I need_ , Dylan thought, happily drifting off into oblivion.  
  
Startled by John clearing his throat, his announcement was most unwelcome. “You'll hate me if I let you fall asleep and sneak away without answering your questions, but I'm sorely tempted.”  
  
After working all night and much sweet loving, Dylan was ready to crash. “I don't care,” he said truthfully, nuzzling closer, eyes still closed. “It's enough to be with you again.”  
  
“I haven't wanted to speak about it,” John continued, ignoring him, “for fear you'd think me...well...crazy.”  
  
Despite his sleepiness, the words disturbed Dylan enough to rouse him, concerned with the cold dread that was suddenly creeping along the edge of his awareness. Sighing, he whispered, “Okay, then. Tell me the big secret.”  
  
John took a deep breath, paused dramatically then stated, “I'm not human. Not anymore, anyway.”  
  
to be continued 


	19. Chapter 19

_Not human?_ Dylan frowned. Bad joke. Raising himself on an elbow, he eyed his lover skeptically. “You'd make a lameass vampire. No sparkles.”  
  
John chuckled and shook his head. “No, not a vampire. Did you ever see the movie _Der Himmel über Berlin_ by Wim Wenders? They called it _Wings of Desire_ in the West.”  
  
Gooseflesh rippled up Dylan's back. He had seen the movie, and he'd come away both comforted and saddened by it. Incredulous, confused, he could not understand. “Are you saying that you're the angel and I'm the circus girl?” he finally ventured.  
  
“Well...yes,” John replied, looking both amused and apologetic.  
  
Dylan had only seen the movie once when he was a freshman in college, but more scenes came flooding back at John's reply. The shock of awareness felt electric, almost painful, as too many pieces of the puzzle fell into place to deny what his lover was saying. Feeling as though his heart might break, he blurted, “Tell me your life isn't that gray and lonely.”  
  
John stroked the side of his face, eyes misty again. “No, my Dylan, it is not. I see the world as you do, and I was quite enjoying my existence when you came along.”  
  
Blushing, Dylan asked, “So that's why we can't be together? 'Cause you're an angel?”  
  
“Yes,” came the simple but astounding reply. “I'm one of the fortunate few who are allowed to manifest here in the world, but I'm not supposed to be...um...interacting with humans quite like this.”  
  
Dylan's mind raced. The angel in the movie had made a momentous choice, one he hadn't agreed with. Suddenly in a panic, he cried, “You can't lose your wings for me.”  
  
“Ah, sweet boy.” John looked over his shoulder impishly. “None to lose, I'm afraid.”  
  
Close to hysteria, Dylan couldn't resist teasing. “You mean you still need to earn them, like Clarence?”  
  
“Certainly not!” John feigned insult, or maybe he didn't. “I keep some rarefied company, I'll have you know.” Sighing, he smiled wistfully. “There's no going back, I'm afraid. Herr Wenders got many things right but that part wrong. I can't change what I am and stay myself.”  
  
“How did it happen?” Dylan asked, trying to stay calm. “You said you were human once.”  
  
John looked him straight in the eye and shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I don't know how I came to have this existence,” he admitted. “A long time ago I followed an extraordinary man and had a very satisfying life, but I can't say that's why I'm here now. Many among us had very different lives, and yet they're angels too.”  
  
“You mean there's more of you around?”  
  
“Of course!” John replied. “You've met a few already. Minty's like me and so is Sid, although he's higher rank and really something else altogether. But Gabriel and Rafe are big muckymucks, if you haven't figured that out already, so you keep some fine company yourself. Speaking of.” Squeezing him close, he whispered with a quiet growl, “Kiss me again before they come to get us.”  
  
Dylan was happy to oblige, melting against the strong chest, although the alluring activity didn't stop his mind from racing. He could understand the words John was saying, but the current reality made them so hard to accept. The unique flavor that lingered on his tongue after John's orgasm was unlike anything he'd ever tasted, not pleasant or unpleasant, but seemed earthy and good because it came from him.  
  
He could spy a small line of stubble on John's cheek his razor had missed. He knew the scent under John's arms was appropriately musty after a mighty adventure in the bedroom. John ate, belched and used the bathroom. He was hungry for parts of Dylan's body that no lover had heretofore approached. Nothing added up.  
  
Breaking their kiss, he undid the top few buttons of John's shirt as his lover watched, curious but silent. The spray of pewter-colored hair across his breastbone seemed so masculine and animalistic compared to himself. Dylan lay his head on the nest of curls seeking reassurance, to feel the rise and fall of John's chest and the quiet thud of the heart within it. He could not understand how the creature holding him was not all man.  
  
“You seem human enough to me,” he finally murmured.  
  
“Oh, I am,” John replied. “When I'm corporal my body works pretty much as I remember and I enjoy it immensely. But what human can do this?”  
  
He held out his hand and it began to fade, as Dylan gasped, mouth dry. A sudden banging on the door caused him to leap off John's chest with a shriek, both of them hurriedly sitting up as a frightening apparition entered in the room.  
  
Not Gabriel or Sid, but the blond Valkyrie he'd seen berating John at the hospital, her eyes firing thunderbolts in every direction. Dylan's blood ran cold, instinctively burying his face in John's shoulder in hopes of hiding somehow.  
  
“A ha!” she cried, striding into the room, followed by the imposing African-American man who had come to fetch John before. “Michael, you see? I told you he was here. Caught red-handed with the human bo....”  
  
Dylan gathered the courage to peek at her as she trailed off, looking dumfounded. Shooting a laser glance at Michael, she barked, “What do you know about this?”  
  
Michael appeared amused, or maybe Dylan was imagining it. “You're the one who has insisted there's a problem here, Uriel.”  
  
Face stormy, she stalked over to him to engage in a furious, but impossible to overhear conversation. Dylan turned to John, who shrugged, face mischievous, and promptly tackled him into a kiss. Laying on top, lodging one thigh between his own, the fit was too sweet not to grind a little bit even with witnesses. Dylan was ready to forget the inevitable when it finally arrived.  
  
“John,” came a deep voice. “That's enough.”  
  
He broke their kiss with a wink and sat up as Dylan grabbed his glasses from the nightstand so he could properly view their foe. The woman's golden hair was done in a long braid that reached to her ass, and her creamy white suit made her look every inch a Nordic princess. The way her mere presence froze his balls sealed the impression. But she peered at Dylan with more curiosity than anger at this point and asked, “What is your name, young man?”  
  
“Dylan Wozniak,” he replied, amazed he could find his voice.  
  
“Is that your father's name?” she continued.  
  
“No, ma'am, my mother's. I don't know anything about my father.”  
  
She glanced at Michael but he remained impassive, so she returned to Dylan. “And your mother's name?”  
  
“Anna Marie Wozniak,” she was told.  
  
She and Michael closed their eyes for a few moments, concentrating, then suddenly faced each other open-mouthed, incredulous. “You've got to talk to him,” she told Michael.  
  
He harrumphed. “You talk to him.”  
  
She frowned, turning her glare at John. “You should not be here,” she exclaimed, pointing her finger ominously. “Come away. Now.” Turning on her heel, she exited the room without waiting for John to obey.  
  
Michael headed toward the door as well. “One minute, John,” he said, giving Dylan a brief nod before leaving them alone.  
  
Suddenly faced with another separation, Dylan was filled with dread, but John seemed nonplussed. As they tucked in their shirts, making themselves presentable, he noted, “Something's going on. What's up with your father?”  
  
“Why is everyone bugging me about my dad?” Dylan wondered. “Sid asked too.”  
  
Instantly John became more curious. “He did? What did he say?”  
  
“He told me Gabriel said I reminded her of someone,” Dylan replied. “It's just the Johnny Depp thing, right?”  
  
“Hmmm,” John pondered. “Well, I don't know what it could be, but I'll try and find out.” Pulling him into a hug before they reached the door, he received another heady, but all too brief, kiss. “Don't worry, my Dylan,” John whispered. “I'll see you again soon. I'm sure of it.”  
  
Dylan didn't want to face the scary people on the other side of the door but there was nothing to be done. “Do you require fare home?” Michael asked him. When Dylan shook his head, begging off, he was introduced to a man who looked butler-ish. “Stephen will show you to the door.”  
  
John left his side, but the sad, resigned air he wore at their first parting was nowhere in evidence. He smiled warmly, giving Dylan a reassuring nod that buoyed his heart, and the three of them vanished.  
  
to be continued


	20. Chapter 20

He usually declined the invitation to Sunday dinner at his uncle's house, but this week Dylan found good reason to go. The roast chicken was great and his cousins were crazy fun as usual, but all he could think about was getting his uncle alone to grill him about his father.  
  
“I been waiting for you to ask,” Joe replied, cautiously, “and kinda dreading it, 'cause there's nothing to say.”  
  
Dylan's frustration must have leaked like a rusty bucket.  
  
“Look,” he went on hurriedly, “it ain't 'cause I'm withholding nothing. Annie was a good girl. Never had any serious boyfriends, even though lots were interested. That's why it was such a shock when she dropped the bomb she was preggers. Mom cried and Dad yelled, but she never told who knocked her up.”  
  
“Not anyone?” Dylan asked, finding it hard to accept.  
  
“Nobody,” Joe confided. “Me an' Drew even shook down a few prime suspects, sure she was covering for one of 'em. But I gotta say, we decided they were telling the truth 'cause they were as hurt and pissed as we were. No one saw her with anyone, not even her girlfriends. She took the secret to her grave, Dyl. Sorry.”  
  
“Hey, it's not your fault.” Dylan sighed inwardly. “I don't know why I'm asking anyway.” John's people were all over him about his dad, but it felt wrong to bother his uncle about such painful memories.  
  
Joe chuckled, scratching his head, seemingly unperturbed. “I always figured you never asked about your dad 'cause...well, look at yourself. You sure don't look like a Wozniak.”  
  
Dylan laughed, knowing it was true, amazed he hadn't noticed before. The bodies of his family members were very different from his; shorter, sturdier, with ruddy complexions and fair hair. He hadn't paid attention to his otherness growing up, and he had no idea why considering it was so obvious.  
  
“Maybe you'll never know who he was,” Joe continued, “but you gotta look just like him. I see Annie in your eyes, and sometimes how you smile. The rest is all him, I bet.”  
  
Shocked, Dylan realized his willowy height, fair skin and black hair were indeed alien, unlike anyone else in his family. It was strange how he'd never made the cognition before—that to look at himself in the mirror was to see his father's face.  
  
Joe was still talking and Dylan was relieved, as all the commotion in his brain made it impossible to think straight. “You never grew up into someone we recognized from the neighborhood, either,” he was informed. “You seen the kinda guys who live around here. Annie's beaus were all like them. Your dad's not Polish, Dyl. He's from somewhere else.”  
  
Somewhere else....  
  
Dylan landed at the counter of the local diner and ordered some coffee, trying to sort out his head. The whole interaction with his uncle left him feeling messed up. It was almost creepy to think he'd been wearing his father's face all this time and hadn't even realized it. Sighing, he picked up an abandoned _Tribune_ to distract himself when someone sat on the stool next to him. Skin prickling, he cast a furtive glance to discover Raphael staring at him calmly. “Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?” he noted.  
  
“You were spying on me?!?” Dylan gasped, freaked by the implications.  
  
The elegant man shrugged. “John sent me to talk to you, and that's where you were when I arrived.” When Dylan opened and closed his mouth a few times but did not speak, Rafe continued, “Gabriel and Siddhartha have returned to their part of the world, so John has asked me to facilitate another meeting between the two of you.”  
  
The news should have given Dylan hope, but he felt wary instead. After all, Raphael was John's ex, and his Vulcan-like demeanor seemed totally heartless. “You want to help us?” he asked, unbelieving.  
  
“I'm not convinced I should,” came the haughty reply. “John is a child and you're not much more than one. You're both being ridiculous.”  
  
Dylan snorted, smug he'd called it right. “John's a child? Sure.”  
  
"He is!” Rafe insisted. “Adored by many, great and small, cherished and indulged as any baby brother would be. He is called The Beloved and comes by the nickname deservedly, but the fact that he allowed this thing to happen between you proves that he lacks any semblance of wisdom.”  
  
Incensed, Dylan replied, “I still don't get why it's so bad.”  
  
Raphael cocked a disdainful brow, making him feel instantly stupid. “You do understand that John is a non-corporeal being,” he stated, tone condescending. “He wears a body for the work he does, supporting those ready to pass on, but he cannot maintain it indefinitely. What kind of future do you expect to have with such a creature?”  
  
“I'd take what I could get,” Dylan stated, defiant. “I was happy before you guys took him away.”  
  
“You should be creating a life for yourself,” Rafe continued more earnestly, “a home, family, children.”  
  
A home with John sounded heavenly, but kids...no thanks. “Are babies the only thing that matters?” he asked.  
  
“Of course not!” Rafe replied. “But life is programmed to continue. It would be natural and right for you to seek such a path.”  
  
“Not for me,” Dylan declared, ready to defend his choice. “What if I just want him? Why should it matter if we spend time together?”  
  
Rafe rolled his eyes. “You honestly can't understand why it might be against the rules for an angel to be...fornicating with a human?”  
  
Petulant, Dylan retorted, “So I guess God really is just a nosy old fart with nothing better to do than snoop in people's bedrooms.”  
  
“No. The man with the long white beard making lists is Santa Claus,” Rafe replied, chuckling at his own joke. “The Creator is something else.”  
  
Dylan didn't think it was funny. “Well, if it's not a sin, what's the big deal?”  
  
Exasperated, Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “Look, young man. Is it a sin to drive your car after you've been drinking alcohol? No. But it's against the law for good reason. The veil between the worlds exists for good reason as well. You seem to be handling all this better than one would expect, but most humans would find their sanity sorely tested by interacting with us.”  
  
Not feeling particularly sane, Dylan found himself awash in the memory of John straddling his hips the first time they'd made love. “ _It's been too long,”_ he'd murmured, causing Dylan to realize that the last person to fuck his lover was sitting to his right. Imagining the aristocratic man all sweaty and growling, putting it to John with precise efficiency should have made him feel jealous, but instead his face was hot and his jeans uncomfortable. He could totally understand why John had loved this man, angel...whatever he was.  
  
Dylan looked up to find his rival eying him strangely and was struck by another memory. “ _Rafe is a creature of the mind and our John is ruled by his heart,”_ Sid had said. “ _Raphael simply cannot love John, or anyone possibly, the way John wants to be loved.”_  
  
Overcome with compassion, Dylan knew what must have happened. “John left you, didn't he?”  
  
Raphael grunted a concession, reaching to fiddle with a straw. “I would have been happy to continue but he wanted something more, I suppose,” he admitted. “And then I did something unwise and lost his trust for a long time. It's only in the last decade or so that he's speaking to me again.”  
  
Dylan's suffering had been great since his lover had been stolen away that horrible afternoon, but at least he had the comfort of knowing that John had left unwillingly. He couldn't imagine how awful it would be for Raphael, longing for a partner who was gone by his own choice. Wanting to comfort but unsure how, Dylan was left with the usual mess of confusion waiting in line for his brain to sort out.  
  
The harrumph caught his attention, however, and he was amazed to discover that what-a-cute-puppy expression on Raphael's face. “You're much like him,” he stated, grudgingly, voice warm. “Perhaps I understand a little better what is happening here. So, Dylan Wozniak, do you want to see John again or not?”  
  
to be continued


	21. Chapter 21

Raphael had promised a meeting, but it had been two days with no word, no call...nothing. Bummed, Dylan left the hospital one dreary morning oblivious to his surroundings only to be startled by a familiar, sultry voice. “Hey there, handsome. Going my way?”  
  
“John!” Ecstatic, he lept into his lover's arms, demanding a kiss even though they were out in public.  
  
Indulging him all too briefly, John backed away without letting go. “What would you do now if I wasn't here?” he asked.  
  
“I'd go home and crash,” Dylan said.  
  
Nodding, John pulled him toward the street, waving for a cab.  
  
“It's too expensive,” Dylan protested, hanging back. “My place is far away.”  
  
“Hush,” came the reply, as John shoved him into the waiting taxi and sat beside him. He called out Dylan's address like he lived there and Dylan leaned against his shoulder, content to be taken care of. The eyes that looked into his were as wolflit as he'd ever seen, inflaming his face and further inhibiting his already limited ability at intelligent conversation.  
  
“I-I missed you,” he managed. The cabbie's curious eyes in the rear view mirror kept him from kissing John again, making it hard to know what to do with himself.  
  
Smiling, John took his hand in between his own. “I've been indulging many blissful fantasies about this day,” he admitted. “Rafe returned from your meeting with quite a different attitude, you little charmer. I was surprised he let me out so easily.”  
  
“Are you in jail or something?” Dylan asked.  
  
“No, just an enforced vacation,” he was told with a sigh. “I'm not allowed to manifest, so I can't do my work. I'm like a beat cop consigned to a desk job until all this is sorted out. Today I'm ostensibly with Raphael, and he's willing to cover for me while....” John's impish expression finished his sentence, causing Dylan's heart to skip a beat or two.  
  
“How much time do we have?” he asked.  
  
“I'll take off when you go to work tonight,” came the welcome reply.  
  
The prospect of all day with John, maybe all day in bed with John, caused Dylan such feverish commotion, he couldn't decide whether he was excited, terrified or both. But the cab ride to his apartment took way less time than he anticipated, and he hoped John didn't notice how his trembling hands fumbled the key in the door.  
  
Once inside, John led him wordlessly down the hall into his room, pushing him caveman-like onto the bed. Pulling off Dylan's shoes while he toed out of his own, he hovered on all fours over Dylan's prone body, raking it up and down with a fiery glance that should have burnt his skin to a crisp. Growling in appreciation, John settled their hips together and gave him a smoky smile. “I don't know where to begin,” he whispered.  
  
Welcoming the comfortable weight of John's body and the strong thigh nestled between his own, Dylan wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, hoping the luscious activity would still his pounding heart and quiet his nerves. It worked! By the time he realized John's hand was down his jeans, he was too horny to worry anymore.  
  
Dylan couldn't tell which was sweeter, the tongue dancing in his mouth or the wicked rhythm of John's right hand. His hips responded in an ancient, obscene dance, the orgasm looming almost immediately. He squirmed, trying to warn, but John was aware. Breaking their kiss, he took Dylan into his mouth and brought him off that way, the vibration of his appreciative chuckling sending him blissfully out into the stratosphere.  
  
It wasn't until he rolled over and bumped into someone that Dylan realized he'd crashed. “What about you?” he asked sleepily, “Aren't you horny?”  
  
“I'm fine...for now,” John replied. Dylan heard him turn the page of a book and felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. “You sleep. Get all the rest you need and be strong for me later.”  
  
Dylan took him at his word and let himself drift back into oblivion. It was deliciously comforting to have a warm body to snuggle against in bed. He'd forgotten how much. And, for the first time since their relationship began, he did not wake up alone. John smiled down at him, noticing his movement, and set down his book. “Good afternoon,” he said.  
  
“Ummm,” Dylan replied, throwing his arm around John's waist, still not awake enough to talk.  
  
“Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?”  
  
Tightening his grip on John's body, Dylan replied, “No. Don't go anywhere.”  
  
Chuckling, John stayed put, waiting patiently until Dylan's brain turned back on. He kept his eyes closed long after he was fully awake, trying to memorize the moment, still finding it hard to believe it was actually happening. Finally, however, his genuine curiosity got the better of him. “Have you met God?” he asked. It seemed a natural question when you had an angel in your bed.  
  
“Nope,” John replied. “As far as I can tell, the creator of this universe is not a being like you and me. I think the Buddhists got it right. They say you cannot know what God is, only what God isn't, for the creator is not of the phenomenal world, and that is all we can experience. God is what existence exists in. God created and observes existence, but is not part of it. Does that make sense?”  
  
“Maybe,” Dylan said, trying to work it out.  
  
“On this planet,” John continued, “the beings in charge are the archangels, and they answer to the Elohim. Above them are the....” John made a sound so foreign to Dylan's ears, his jaw dropped in wonder. “And that's all I know.”  
  
Dylan would have preferred something more definite. “So, you're not sure God exists?”  
  
“I didn't say that,” came the reply. “I don't know how anyone can look around creation and not see that there is intelligence behind it.” Leaning down to offer a sweet kiss, John concluded, “Utter perfection.”  
  
“But bad shit happens all the time,” Dylan protested.  
  
“The chaos is why it's perfect,” John told him. “The Creator put everything into motion and then set it free. It wouldn't be amusing otherwise, I imagine. Why play a game if you already know the outcome?”  
  
For some reason, the idea pissed Dylan off. “So life is just a game?” he asked, indignant.  
  
“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” John replied. “Shakespeare said that, and he was right. What happens here cannot affect the eternal nature of your soul so, yes, you could call life a game. Or so say all the bodhis I know.”  
  
“Bodhis?” Dylan asked grumpily.  
  
“The bodhisattvas,” John told him. “The way-showers like Sid; the ones who voice The Teaching for a culture. I've been privileged to meet a few and they all basically say the same thing.” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, then sang, “All you need is love."  
  
Dylan couldn't help smiling. John had a good voice. Still, it didn't add up. “Don't tell me John Lennon was a bodhi-whateveryoucallit.”  
  
“No, of course not,” came the reply. “Not like Confucius or Buddha or Jesus, but The Beatles certainly had a unique role to play in this world's history.” With a quiet growl, John scooched down on the bed and grabbed him into a bear hug, nestling their hips together seductively. “Enough talking,” he groused. “You're as bad as Rafe.”  
  
Dylan giggled, flattered by the comparison to the dashing archangel. The powerful body in his arms was so perfectly delicious, John so forceful and demanding, he felt giddy with anticipation, ready for anything.  
  
“I've never been inside a man before you let me in,” John admitted, voice husky against his ear, sending shivers cascading. “May I do it again?”  
  
to be continued 


	22. Chapter 22

_First time?!?_ The flattery flushed Dylan's cheeks even as he tried to figure it out. John seemed so confident and sure of himself. How could it be? Imagining Raphael always topping his lover seemed erotic indeed, and such contemplations heated him up just as effectively as John's ardent kisses.  
  
Gentle yet demanding, the tongue in his mouth explored and teased until he was literally squirming. Starved as he was for his angelic lover, the activity felt more necessary than life itself. When John broke the kiss Dylan groaned in frustration, hungry for more. Opening his eyes, ready to complain, the appreciative glance coming his way shut down all coherent thought.  
  
“I love making you blush,” John teased. “Does that make me wicked?”  
  
“Yes,” Dylan decided, scowling.  
  
John chuckled, face impish, as he discovered something impatient tenting the blanket covering Dylan's otherwise naked lower half. “You know what's the best thing?” he whispered, voice husky.  
  
“What?” Dylan wondered.  
  
The handsome face was positively glowing. “You desire me. You really want me to do this...” John's talented hand stroked most enticingly. “This...” Reaching lower, it traced lazy patterns that gave him goosebumps. “And this.” Dylan shuddered, thighs parting without willing it, panting at the intimate caress. “Don't you, my love?”  
  
Dylan could only nod, sure his voice would crack if he spoke.  
  
“It's hard to believe,” John admitted. “Usually I'm the one with all the carnal longing and my partner....” He sighed, face thoughtful for a moment, returning quickly to its mischievous aspect. “I can't stop thinking about how you...um...swept me off my feet the other day. Such passion!” His eyes closed, expression dreamy, as Dylan's face heated, remembering his uncharacteristically forward behavior.  
  
John giggled, giving the tip of his nose a smooch. “Blushing again,” he crowed. Suddenly yanking the covers off Dylan's legs, he cried, “Come out of there and let me see you.”  
  
Unable to bear the fond scrutiny, Dylan rolled over onto his stomach, realizing the gesture was an invitation he hadn't intended to offer just yet. John took advantage, however, as gentle hands pulled him to his knees, head still on the pillow. The position felt lewd, like a cat in heat waving her tail in the air, the cool air prickling his skin, causing him to shiver.  
  
“Look at you. Such a naughty, naughty boy,” John crooned, caressing his backside lovingly.  
  
Heart racing, Dylan was grateful that his face was turned away from his tormentor as sinful fingers caused his hips to dance shamelessly, the ache in his belly growing ever more sharp, demanding release. Long before John seemed interested in going there, Dylan was ready, unsure why he'd felt afraid earlier. “Fuck me,” he demanded, heart thrilling as he heard John's sharp intake of breath in response.  
  
“Oooh,” his lover gasped. “Say that again.”  
  
“Do it,” Dylan begged, smiling to himself as the hands touching him trembled. “Fuck me good.”  
  
“All right, I will,” came a breathy voice at his ear, sending shockwaves down his spine. “If you insist.”  
  
Fingers were replaced by something larger and more satisfying, and Dylan was swept away. The sense of possession was overwhelming him again, feeling as though John touched his heart with every thrust. He wanted to be plundered, ravaged, transported to wherever his angelic lover wished to take him. Heaven or hell, he didn't care which, and in the end it was a little of both, sending him skyward into bliss and feeling dirty as the basest sin.  
  
Afterward, gazing at the handsome face, Dylan was struck by an inexplicable sadness. He loved this man so much. Sweet, because things were so easy and comfortable, he had never felt such contentment with a lover before. But there could be no growing old together on the porch swing for them; John had said so himself. The weight of that reality came like a blow, a stifling darkness crushing his chest and constricting his throat. He feared he might weep.  
  
Blue eyes grew wide with concern. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”  
  
Dylan took a deep breath to steady his voice and asked, “How long before they take you away from me for good?”  
  
John sighed, face compassionate, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “I don't know,” he said. “I admit I've been living for the moment because I don't regret any of this, even though it was wrong of me to become involved with you.”  
  
“I still don't get why it's so wrong,” Dylan grumped, heart heavy.  
  
“I'm an angel now,” John explained. “I walked this earth as a human long ago. The rules maintain that if I want to be human again, I must reincarnate, but I would most likely lose the conscious thread of my identity. It's more fun to do what I'm doing, of course, and dabble in this luscious physical existence while remaining me.”  
  
“You're supposed to incarnate into a baby and start over?” Dylan asked.  
  
“Yes,” John replied. “Earth is in high demand, you know. It's a paradise as far as physical level planets go, and more and more souls want to exist here. So there are strict protocols about who, how, where and all that, and those of us who are allowed to manifest in the physical to do our work are under close scrutiny. Co-mingling like this is not done, but I couldn't help myself. You're too delicious. Do you forgive me?”  
  
The flattery helped a bit, but Dylan still felt depressed. He decided to smile anyway, and was genuinely glad to see his lover's face relax. “No matter what happens, I don't regret meeting you,” he said, truthfully, “even though I still wish we could be together somehow.”  
  
John opened his mouth to speak when Dylan's stomach let out a growl of such raging fury, it startled them both. “Wow! When did you last eat?” he asked, grinning.  
  
“Uhhh.” Dylan tried to remember. “Maybe a Snickers around two last night.”  
  
“I'm awful, keeping you abed all day!” John cried, leaping up. “I can't solve our existential dilemma, but perhaps your stomach won't be quite so angry at me if I take you to lunch.”  
  
Looking at the splendid creature standing there naked and unashamed felt bittersweet. John was all his, but what did he have? Dylan drank in the sight, every detail, marking the experience indelibly into his psyche. Memories were his own to keep, that was the only certainty.  
  
to be continued 


	23. Chapter 23

On their way to the restaurant, Dylan walked alongside John in silence, not because of his typical inability to communicate but because he felt grumpy and sullen. John praised the beautiful day, Dylan's choice of neighborhood and other inanities, but the light-hearted observations failed to lift his spirits.  
  
They picked the same beer and burger joint he'd shared with Sid, but his mood was so different from that magical afternoon, the contrast was striking. Then he'd been happy, surprised by how much he enjoyed Sid's company, excited and sure his new friend would find a way to reunite him with his lover. Now, sitting across from John felt bittersweet. The handsome face made his heart ache, and as he glanced over the lithe body a dark longing erupted, sure to sweep him into the depths of despair.  
  
One day, John would go away and never come back. He'd been honest about the situation from the beginning and Dylan had assured him he didn't care. It was true at the time and it wasn't like Dylan regretted the relationship. On the contrary, he wanted it enough to feel pissed by the forces beyond his control threatening it. And since there was only one person to take the brunt of his anger, John became the target.  
  
“So, do you do this kind of thing often, or was I just lucky?” he asked as they waited for their food.  
  
John frowned. “What kind of thing?”  
  
“You know,” Dylan persisted. “Slumming with the lowly humans.”  
  
Blue eyes widened, wounded by the accusation, which gave Dylan a kind of sick satisfaction. “Slumming? Never!” he cried. “That's not how I think of you, and I'll have you know this is the first time I've ever done anything like this.”  
  
“Well then, lucky me,” Dylan panned. He was hurting so much, lashing out felt good. “I get touched by an angel. Oops, maybe I should've said fucked. You get off then disappear into the void never to be seen again.”  
  
“That's not fair!” John argued.  
  
Dylan agreed, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop himself no matter how childish it seemed. “I'll probably end up in the loony bin one day,” he continued, “'cause my memories will convince me I'm crazy.”  
  
John's tragic face was most gratifying. “I know I've been selfish,” he began, “but I thought this was something you wanted.”  
  
“It's not a past tense thing,” Dylan cried. “It's something I want. Need even. I'm addicted and one day I'm gonna have to go cold turkey. You knew what it would do to me and you infected me anyway, like a junkie who doesn't want to shoot up alone.”  
  
“Dylan!” John gasped in horror. “Have you felt this way all along?”  
  
The question brought him up short, dissipating his anger into sadness again. “Well....” he mumbled.  
  
“I'm trying to understand what's happening here,” John said. “What's all this talk about me disappearing?”  
  
“You said yourself it would happen eventually,” Dylan reminded him. He didn't know why the issue was looming in his mind after such a lovely morning, but even being a shit with John didn't shake it. In the end, picking an argument just made him feel worse.  
  
“Yes I did,” John agreed. “But not today. Is there something else going on, Dylan?”  
  
The truth was too confusing to try and sort out. “No, just forget about it,” he replied, sighing.  
  
John's gaze was compassionate, piercing his heart. “How can I forget about an outburst like that?” he asked.  
  
Perversely, John being kind revved up his anger once again, adrenalin kicking his heart rate back into fight mode, when the sight before his eyes shut it all down like a plug had been pulled. He watched Raphael enter the establishment, spot him with a nod and head his way. His open mouth is surely what caused John to turn around and moan, “Oh no.”  
  
The striking archangel sat next to John in the booth, who cast him a wary eye and promptly ooched over in the seat to create some space between them. “What's going on?” John asked. “I thought I had the rest of the afternoon.”  
  
“Uriel is on her way,” Rafe told him. “I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but this is probably the last time you'll be able to visit Dylan. She's insisting the letter of the law be upheld and no argument we've ventured will dissuade her. There's time to say goodbye, but we will need to leave within the hour.”  
  
“I knew it!” Dylan declared, feeling not at all triumphant to have been proven right. The dread that had been lurking all morning simply expanded to fill him with a dark sickness.  
  
“It can't be,” John argued. “Gabriel told me they'd come to an understanding about this. What happened?”  
  
“Michael has been willing to look the other way until now,” Raphael said, “but with Uriel riding him his hands are tied. There's really nothing he can do but uphold the rules. And unfortunately, the only one who could possibly have any impact on this situation is so reclusive and unapproachable, I have no hope of their ever coming forward to help you.”  
  
John looked as puzzled as Dylan felt. Unsure why his blood had suddenly turned cold and goosebumps danced up his spine, he turned to Rafe and asked, “Who are you talking about?”  
  
Raphael cocked a brow. “Why, your father, of course.”  
  
to be continued


	24. Chapter 24

“Say what?!?” John and Dylan gasped.  
  
Clutching Rafe's shoulder, John asked, “You know who his father is?”  
  
“We have our suspicions,” came the reply, “but no proof, I'm afraid.”  
  
“What do you mean, no proof?” John persisted. “It's all in the Records, isn't it?”  
  
“We can see Dylan's mother,” Rafe told him, “and, of course, here is Dylan. But, considering who we're dealing with, it's not surprising that we can find only a hint of Azrael's presence.”  
  
John spit out his tea. “Azrael! That's impossible!”  
  
“Yes, we tend to agree,” Raphael said, “which is why the Records offer no proof.”  
  
Dylan witnessed this exchange with little understanding and much confusion. “What are you guys talking about?” he asked. “Who is Azrael?”  
  
“He's an archangel,” John informed him. “Lord of the etheric element. And, true to his nature, I've never known him to manifest in the physical.” Turning back to Rafe, he asked, “How could he have fathered a human baby?”  
  
“It's not unheard of,” Raphael informed him, “but we can't see exactly what happened. His footprints are all over the scene, so to speak, but no visual evidence is available. It's as though The Act is shrouded in mist.”  
  
“My dad is an angel?” Dylan asked, still trying to take it all in.  
  
“That's what we believe,” Rafe said. “Gabriel and Michael noticed the family resemblance right away. I didn't see it myself until they pointed it out—maybe because of your glasses—but it's most certainly there. Even Uriel agrees you look much like him, but she doesn't consider that evidence enough to drop her charges against John.”  
  
“Have I ever met him?” John asked.  
  
“Perhaps.” Rafe chuckled. “I don't know why I think of Azrael as he, for when he appears in human form he seems more female than not.” Turning to Dylan, he explained, “My essential nature is non-corporal and, as such, I have no gender as a being. None of the archangels do. It's only when we take human form that such concepts embody. Why it suits Michael and me to manifest male, while Uriel and Gabriel choose female, I have no idea. We simply wear the bodies in which we feel most comfortable.  
  
“I've never had cause, until now, to wonder which genitalia Azrael chose when he manifested as human, if any. But, I must say, I would have guessed female just from the kind of androgynous form in which he tended to show up. So, you see, we have a hard time believing he's actually your father, even though no evidence to the contrary is available.”  
  
“Does this mean that we might be together if Dylan is found to be half angel?” John interrupted.  
  
Suddenly awake to the reality of the situation, Dylan waited breathlessly for Raphael's reply.  
  
“Yes,” came the answer, as the lovers gasped, eying each other with wonder and excitement. Taking note, Rafe raised his hand, face grave. “Be aware that Azrael appears to be ignoring our requests to communicate about this. Even Michael has received no response. I'm not convinced he'll ever address the situation.”  
  
“Uriel won't take the obvious as evidence enough?” John asked, clearly frustrated.  
  
“No,” Rafe replied. “She demands that Azrael step forward and acknowledge Dylan. Otherwise, she's decided, there is another explanation for Dylan's parentage.”  
  
Dylan's stomach felt queasy, his heart pounding. Whether he was upset or excited was unsure. The news felt overwhelming, hysteria creeping along the edges of his awareness, testing his sanity the way they all worried it would. Raphael and John were still talking, but he had a hard time paying attention, swept away by the thought, _I have a father!_ Finishing his lunch became impossible.  
  
“He's got to show up sometime.” John's strident statement cut through Dylan's reverie.  
  
Raphael shrugged. “It could take longer than Dylan's lifetime for him to show up.”  
  
“Can't you do anything more?” came the heartfelt plea.  
  
“We have been trying, John,” Rafe told him, face sympathetic. “But, of all of us, Azrael has the least reason to tarry here. He may not be ignoring us, but simply off somewhere else entirely, completely unaware of Dylan's existence. Unfortunately, there's no way of knowing.”  
  
“I refuse to believe this is the end,” John said, stubbornly.  
  
“Until Azrael chooses to resolve the situation, it must be,” came the firm reply. “Neither Gabriel nor I can risk helping you again. Not with Uriel riding her high horse about it. Speaking of which...we really should be going.” Peering at Dylan curiously, he asked, “Are you all right?”  
  
The two pairs of eyes staring at him intently startled Dylan out of his mental haze. “I'm okay, I guess,” he managed to say. Looking at John was no good, because all he wanted to do was hide in his arms and forget about what was apparently happening.  
  
“Shall we leave?” Raphael asked, observing Dylan's hungry glance. “I imagine you'll want to say your goodbyes outside.”  
  
Settling the bill, they wandered back down the quiet street toward Dylan's apartment. John's hand in his felt strong, sure, and Dylan had a hard time believing he must let go of it forever. Stopping by a stand of shrubbery, John gathered him close to kiss him as wicked as ever. Dylan responded in spite of his distress, his hands memorizing the familiar planes and curves of his beloved.  
  
The passionate kiss was followed by a gentler one, and Dylan could feel the body in his arms begin to tremble. His anger had dissipated, replaced by a raging cacophony of competing emotions. As helpless as a boat in a typhoon, he felt battered about, disoriented and unable to speak the words his heart wanted to say. And then, finally, Raphael's quiet voice disturbed their moment. “Come John. We must go.”  
  
Eyes frantic, John pulled off the ring he always wore on his right hand and pressed it into Dylan's palm. “Keep this,” he said, voice shaky. “Don't ever forget me.”  
  
“John!” Raphael gasped, frowning in disapproval.  
  
“It's mine to give,” John stated, defiant.  
  
Raphael shook his head ruefully but said nothing more, pulling John out of their embrace. His lips brushed Dylan's forehead and then he came away, so misty-eyed it made Dylan's throat tight to witness it.  
  
The ring in Dylan's hand was golden, just like John, but though it was solid, it was not heavy. As he watched the men in front of him disappear, the gift felt as insubstantial as the giver. Clutching it all the tighter, he whispered, “I love you,” to the wind.  
  
to be continued


	25. Chapter 25

John always wore it on his ring finger, but it needed to live on Dylan's middle one, for fear he'd fling it off his hand otherwise. He'd noticed how his frame seemed slighter than John's even though he was only an inch shorter, but the ring really brought the disparity home. He both loved and hated it, wanting at times to stick it in a drawer so he wouldn't see it on his hand, constantly reminding him of how final it made their parting feel.  
  
It was over. That seemed certain. He was still reeling and numb from the blow. All of his anger and hurt drained away, leaving him more dead than anything else. For weeks he went to work, came home, crashed, had ice cream or potato chips for dinner then went back to work again like a dutiful little robot.  
  
The Terminals welcomed him without recrimination, of course, and since Dylan was sure John would not be there when he opened the door, he could enjoy their company free of happier expectations. Sometimes he wondered what he found so comforting about sitting in a room full of dying people, and finally he decided it was good to have visible evidence of so many worse off than him.  
  
Besides, he felt he had more in common with the Terminals than with the people laughing together in the cafeteria or holding hands as they strolled down the street. He didn't call anybody and nobody called him. _Paint it Black_ became his new theme song, and he even considered actually doing it to his bedroom, but imagining his landlord's wrath and general apathy stayed his hand.  
  
It was the ring that finally lured his heart out of hiding. He hadn't paid much attention to it on John's hand, but considering it was the new constant in his life, he was fascinated by it now. A simple gold band less than a quarter inch wide, it had an uncut but polished green stone set into it. The ring was worn razor thin at the edges and the gold had a patina that suggested it was far from new.  
  
Inside contained an inscription written in an alphabet Dylan couldn't recognize. Even though wear had made the letters barely legible, that wasn't why he couldn't make out the language. He was sure no one would put random squiggles inside a ring, but the writing didn't seem to match anything his web searches turned up, so there was no deciphering it. The mystery and allure of the thing simply increased that much more.  
  
As for the two notes he had in John's beautiful handwriting, he decided they required framing and a suitable shrine-like area in his bedroom. He'd successfully dried the single rose John had left on his desk, which looked nice in a vase next to them, but no picture of his love existed to complete the tableau. Kicking himself for failing to take at least one, he could not understand why it had never occurred to him to do so.  
  
Every afternoon he would wake up, dress while he read John's words, then hang around before work lost in a dream, remembering embraces that made him feel safe and a tender mouth on his, melting his heart. It was John's kisses he missed the most, the way they could communicate such delicious promises without saying a single word. The sex had been hot and even revelatory, but Dylan ached to be held by those strong arms once again, to share in the blissful wordless conversation that was kissing John.  
  
When it came to actual communication, Dylan had no desire to talk to anyone but the Terminals. They weren't going to eye him strangely or laugh behind their hands when he talked about his lover, the angel. He could extol John's virtues or rant to his heart's content against those who took him away, and they continued to listen sympathetically. They were the reward for long, boring hours of coding, their quiet acceptance keeping him sane as he struggled with the feelings of emptiness and loss that never seemed to ease.  
  
One night he heard a voice inside their room as he came to the door and his heart leapt, but it was only a nurse chatting to herself, and thankfully she seemed unconcerned when he stammered, “Uh, heard something. Wondered what was up,” and beat a hasty exit. It was rare to find staff with the Terminals and it unnerved him, making him worry that he could get into trouble if he was ever discovered sitting with them the way he liked to do. His visits became fewer and more cautious as a result, which felt like yet another loss.  
  
So it was with great freakout that he discovered Minty in there one night, sure she could be visiting for only one good reason. Unfortunately he'd simply caught her working, and she had no news of John at all. It had been good to see her, though, as she was warm, friendly and seemed to find him amusing.  
  
Spying the ring, she gasped, “John gave you that?!?”  
  
Gazing at it fondly, Dylan nodded, twirling it round his finger with his thumb – a comforting new habit.  
  
“Well I'll be,” she mused. Pausing long enough for Dylan to look up, he found her waiting for his attention. “John wore that ring when he was human, which means it's over two thousand years old.” Wagging her finger, she seemed almost as disapproving as Raphael. “You better take good care of it, young man.”  
  
The news stunned Dylan, but he managed to remember the rest. “There's writing inside,” he told her. “Do you know what language it might be? It doesn't look Greek or Hebrew.”  
  
“Ancient Aramaic, I imagine,” she said.  
  
The only thing Dylan knew about Aramaic was that it was a language from the middle east or Africa or something.... “That was his native tongue?” he asked.  
  
“Yes.” Patting his cheek, she smiled. “I must go. It was so nice to see you, Dylan.”  
  
“You too!” he replied. “Thanks for the info.”  
  
“Maybe we'll bump into each other again,” she said on her way out the door.  
  
Her words proved prophetic. Following their initial meeting, he'd find her with the Terminals once or twice a week. Most of the time she was all business, but sometimes she'd seem open to chat. “What did you do before you became an angel?” he asked her once, genuinely curious, hoping to get her talking.  
  
She got all twinkly like his Grandma used to. “Oh, I had a fine life, I must say, and own a great store of memories to savor now that I find myself here. Spirit is funny. When I was human it was the Underground Railroad, but I'm still guiding souls to paradise to this day.”  
  
“So you do what John does,” Dylan decided. “Is that how you met him?”  
  
“He was already here in the U.S. when I showed up,” she said, “and being low on the totem pole, I didn't interact with him much at first. Sweet and unassuming as he is, it took a long time before I realized he was a somebody.”  
  
“A somebody?” Dylan wondered.  
  
“Well, yes,” came the reply. “You know his nickname, don't you?”  
  
Dylan nodded.  
  
“Google it sometime and you'll have an idea of who you're dealing with,” she told him.  
  
“He can't be _that_ Beloved,” Dylan stated firmly.  
  
She gave him a mysterious smile and continued, “Don't think we all rub elbows with the archangels the way he does. I've been doing this for a over a hundred years and have rarely had cause to speak with any of them and, here, you've met them all. Doesn't that seem a little extraordinary?”  
  
Dylan shrugged, still unbelieving. “I didn't know they were archangels when I met them. Everything about this seems so unreal it's hard to pick out any one thing, I guess.” He'd been holding back for fear of chasing her off, but since she seemed in a talkative mood he decided to press his luck. “Have you heard how John is doing?” he asked. “Is he okay?”  
  
She sighed. “He's back to work and happy about that, but he's returned to the Old World and that's where he must remain if he wants to keep in Michael's good graces.” Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she added, “I don't know if it will help, but you're not the only one who misses him.”  
  
Hearing that John was walking around somewhere Dylan wasn't made his heart sink. When John was a disembodied spirit, their worlds could never cross. But if he existed again.... “Is there any way I can call or email him?” Dylan asked. What was halfway around the world in this day and age?  
  
She raised her hand, wincing. “Oh no! Don't you go asking me that.” Taking note of his anguished expression, she added, “I'm sure they have him somewhere with little access to modern technology anyway. Put it out of your mind, child.”  
  
What choice did he have? He never mentioned it to Minty again, but the news brought Dylan some small hope. John was willing to break the rules before, so maybe he would call or write now that he was back on Earth again. But as the weeks droned on with no word, Dylan sank back into his automated self once more. Even bumping into Minty ceased to be exciting, and often made him sad instead, for she was a tangible reminder that John was real, not a figment of his imagination; an actual person he missed very much.  
  
So when he found her bending over a Terminal one night he barely blinked. But as she looked up, he gasped. She had told him once his smile was as golden as a dream come true, and the one on her face definitely fell into that category. “Dylan!” she cried. “There's news! Lord almighty, I can't believe it!”  
  
He couldn't help but grin back even though he felt wary and confused. “What news?”  
  
“I wish I could say, but its not my story to tell.” she told him. “A car will be waiting for you when your shift ends at seven.” She eyed him up and down, hands on hips. “I just never would have believed it in a million years.”  
  
“It must be good or you wouldn't be smiling like that, right?” Dylan asked, afraid to hope.  
  
“You'll see.” Still twinkling, Minty patted his cheek in her usual way. “Now I'm off before I run my mouth.” She vanished, leaving him with no room to argue and nothing to do but stare at his watch. Three hours till seven. How would he survive?  
  
to be continued


	26. Chapter 26

Sprinting out of the hospital at seven, Dylan was half convinced his conversation with Minty had all been a dream, but there was Sid standing next to a limo out front and he exhaled the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Clad in navy slacks and a camel hair blazer, Sid looked even more dapper than usual. The older man caught him up in a bear hug, which Dylan happily returned, relieved Sid was as smiley as Minty had been.  
  
“Well, Dylan,” he said, “you've caused quite a commotion. Come, come, let's get you to the house before everyone dies of anticipation.”  
  
He gestured toward the open door and Dylan got in, still finding the situation hard to believe. “What's going on?” he asked, as Sid joined him, sitting in the opposite seat.  
  
“Azrael has acknowledged you,” Sid announced. “When John told me they suspected he was your father I was as doubtful as everyone else. But surprise, surprise, he's admitted to the deed.”  
  
Dylan's heart was racing and he didn't know what to think. “How did it happen?”  
  
Sid leaned forward conspiratorially. “From what I understand, he came upon your mother engaged in a selfless act and became intrigued, which is interesting, because that's the exact same thing John said to me about you.”  
  
“He did?” Dylan could feel his cheeks warming at Sid's you-cute-little-puppy glance.  
  
“I'll have you know, his bumping into you wasn't entirely a coincidence,” Sid revealed, glancing around cautiously as though the limo had ears. “Keep that little tidbit under your hat. But, yes, he told me he saw you visiting with the terminal patients night after night and his curiosity got the better of him. Considering how matters have turned out, I couldn't be more happy for the both of you.”  
  
“But what does it mean?” Dylan asked, still totally confused.  
  
“It means that Uriel has dropped her charges,” Sid began, “and John can come back to work here in the U.S. where he prefers to be. And, if I'm understanding Gabriel correctly, it means that he will be allowed to interact with you in whatever ways the two of you decide to interact.”  
  
Dylan's spirit soared. Since Minty made her announcement he'd been afraid to hope, sure that whatever was going on was only a baby step in the right direction, not a leap that would land him at the finish line complete with trophy and blue ribbon. “You mean we can be together?” he asked.  
  
“That's what I've been told,” came the reply.  
  
“Holy moley,” Dylan whispered, finding it hard to breathe.  
  
Sid grinned. “Quite so. And what's even more amazing is that Azrael has chosen to manifest in order to meet you, which means the angelic world is abuzz with gossip. There are those who feel that taking a body is beneath them, so there's much gnashing of teeth and finger wagging going on. Some are scandalized, but most are agog with curiosity and excitement, jostling to manage an invite to the house in hopes of meeting him as well.”  
  
Suddenly terrified, Dylan croaked, “H-He wants to meet me?” The idea that he had a father was too new, remaining unsettled in his heart. That he might now face the being who sired him seemed too shocking to comprehend. His mind raced, flailing, finally seeking the balm he'd been afraid to ask about. “Will John be there?”  
  
“Yes,” came the welcome answer, calming the butterflies in his stomach somewhat. The conversation had so unnerved him, he hadn't noticed that they'd stopped in front of the Oak Street Beach house.  
  
Stepping out of the limo, Sid held up the hunk of gray tweed that had been laying next to him on the seat. “Here, put this on,” he said. “It's one of mine so the sleeves will be a little short, but the affair is a bit more formal than you are dressed and...” He paused with a mischievous wink, “It will cover up the holes in your sweater.”  
  
“More than one?” Dylan put on the jacket, wincing at Sid's nod. He never paid enough attention to such things, and the comment presented a new worry. “There's other people here?” he asked. “Am I that big a deal?”  
  
“Well, no, you're not,” Sid told him. “Your angelic heritage isn't all that unusual, really. There are many others walking the Earth who aren't entirely human. What's unusual is that you learned of it. Most never do, and if you hadn't met John you never would have either.  
  
“No, those gathering today want to meet Azrael,” Sid continued. “Even I am hoping to say hello. I've interacted with him several times as a being, but I've never seen him in a body, so I'm quite curious.”  
  
As they entered the big house Dylan could hear the buzz of many voices, and felt grateful for the protective shield of the handsome sports coat as he felt eyes glance his way. “I don't believe John is here yet,” Sid said, guiding him toward a group of people. “I'll introduce you around while we wait.”  
  
Promptly forgetting every name he heard, Dylan shook the hands of the friendly, curious and often haughty people Sid offered him to. And if a few of them seemed familiar somehow, he was too overwhelmed to consider asking, “Hey, do I know you from my history books?”  
  
At some point Sid was called away from his side. Glancing around furtively, he panicked, feeling awkward and out of place, not knowing anyone or what he should do with himself. It seemed the gathered people talking to each other were either ignoring him outright, or staring blatantly like he was a monkey on display at the zoo.  
  
Thankfully, a friendly face caught his attention, waving him over to his small group standing in the corner. Escaping to their welcoming smiles was a huge relief. “You look a little dazed and confused,” the man noted.  
  
Dylan nodded emphatically as the others chuckled. Sid had introduced them – the guy's name was Joshua, maybe – but his brain had apparently stopped functioning when he walked into the house. “Yeah,” he replied. “This is all a little crazy.”  
  
“John should be here soon,” the man said. “He was delayed coming out of Israel. Why don't you join us?”  
  
Dylan smiled gratefully at the others in the group, but felt completely tongue-tied as usual. “You must be a little nervous about meeting your father,” one woman noted correctly.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Dylan said. “I spent most of my life thinking I didn't have one. Um...well, you know what I mean.”  
  
They all nodded sympathetically as Dylan's brain went white. They apparently expected him to keep talking but he could think of nothing to say. They managed to engage him in smalltalk he would never remember until the magic words were finally uttered, “Ah, there he is!” Dylan turned to see John in a silver gray suit, standing in the doorway scanning the room, and felt a burst of pride knowing that the magnificent creature was looking only for him.  
  
Their eyes met and it was like a bolt of electricity down Dylan's spine, inflaming his face, searing his heart and making his jeans uncomfortable.  
  
John strode to his side, grabbed his hand and somehow twirled him in dance step that ended in a dip right out of a Fred Astaire movie. Knees weakening as his beloved's scent enveloped him, Dylan lost his footing and was literally swept off his feet, but John held him tight. Nose to nose, he whispered, “Hello, gorgeous,” before righting him again.  
  
“I can't believe it's you,” Dylan cried, burying his face in John's neck, unwilling to let go despite the chuckling and scattered applause he heard about the room.  
  
John guided him to an unoccupied couch and sat them down, still holding his hand. Spying the ring on Dylan's finger, he raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckle above it. “I'm touched you're wearing it,” he murmured.  
  
“Do you want it back?” Dylan reluctantly asked.  
  
“Nope,” John said without hesitation. “I gave it to you, it's yours.”  
  
“But....” Dylan didn't know why he was arguing as he wanted to keep it.  
  
John squeezed his hand, interrupting. “You're mine now, so I still have it, in a way. You are mine, aren't you?”  
  
Dylan's heart melted at the sincere hope written on his lover's face. “Sure,” he replied. “If you really want me.”  
  
“I do.” It was enough of a vow that Dylan's breath caught, and he peered sharply at John to discover he had heard it too, asking, “And do you want me, my Dylan?”  
  
A shiver went up Dylan's spine as he replied, “I do.”  
  
“Huzzah!” John cried. “Isn't this the most amazing thing? I want to dance around the room, I'm so happy.” His face went from rapturous to impish in a matter of seconds. Finally he sighed and glanced around. “Now that I'm back, I don't want to share you.”  
  
“Don't you want to meet Azrael?” Dylan asked. He still felt highly ambivalent about the the idea himself.  
  
John turned to him with eyes so wolflit, Dylan shuddered. “I didn't come here for Azrael,” he declared. “I want to take you home and....”  
  
There was a lull in the conversation around them, and Dylan looked up to see Michael, Uriel, Gabriel and Raphael enter the room, all wearing navy business suits, the women in pencil-thin skirts. They smiled, acknowledging various individuals milling about, then turned their piercing glances to the both of them. Even with friendly faces, they still seemed intimidating, and Dylan's guts quailed as Gabriel crooked her finger, gesturing to join them.  
  
“Come on,” John whispered, pulling him to his feet. “Looks like it's time.”  
  
They followed the four archangels up the spiral staircase, thankfully stopping at a different suite than the one Dylan had tackled John in so many months ago. They were all smiling at him like they remembered, however, and it made him blush, which took the edge off of his major freak out.  
  
“Are you ready?” Michael asked. “I'll introduce you.”  
  
John squeezed his hand with a reassuring smile, gave him a shove toward the door and sent him to his father.  
  
end


End file.
